


An Unearthly Season

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, DCBB 2019, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2019 (Supernatural), Dualism, General Sam, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Penetrative Sex, Original Mythology, Possession, Prince Castiel (Supernatural), Prince Dean Winchester, Referenced Switching, Season 11 Parallels, Sexual Frustration, Sharing a Bed, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, reluctant allies to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-27 01:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 77,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21110129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: The kingdoms of Calorna and Hiemere have been at war for centuries. Dean and Castiel, princes of those embattled lands, have never known peace, but when they inherit their respective crowns following a devastating battle, it suddenly lies within their grasp. The best way to ensure that peace is a formal alliance-- in this case, a marriage between the two newly-crowned kings.Though their union begins as a political arrangement, it soon deepens into something more. There is only one problem: some strange incompatibility means that they cannot touch without causing each other intense pain. As they struggle to adjust to the realities of their new situation, it becomes clear that peace is not the only consequence of their alliance. Long dormant powers are stirring, and if Dean and Castiel can hold fast to one another, their love may remake the world as they know it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What a relief to finally set this story free into the world! I started writing it over a year ago, after my last DCBB posted, but work and other challenges got in the way and I ended up putting it aside.
> 
> I'm so thrilled that I did, because it meant I could use it for this round of the DCBB, and I was blessed to once again be paired with my dear Aceriee. As always, she went above and beyond the challenge requirements to make some of the most astoundingly beautiful art I have ever seen, reducing me to tears of joy. Please check out her art masterposts on [tumblr](https://missaceriee.tumblr.com/tagged/dcbb19superhoney) and [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105488) and leave her some love. Ace, I'm a sucker for you. 
> 
> Thank you also to sconesandtextingandmurder for swooping in to beta this at the last minute. All your suggestions were greatly appreciated, especially those regarding names. 
> 
> And of course, thank you to the challenge mods, Diamond and Muse, for all their hard work and dedication to this wonderful event. 
> 
> Title from Barbara Kingsolver.

The battlefield was louder than Castiel remembered. The sharp clang of weapons striking against one another, the shouts of the soldiers, the occasional piercing wail of the trumpets and horns summoning them into another desperate push forward. Above them, the brilliant golden sun beat down, its rays reflecting off their armour and causing Castiel to squint against its harsh light. Sour sweat trickled down his forehead, and he shifted his sword to his left hand to wipe his face with his right. 

The whisper of metal against itself was the only warning he had as an enemy soldier approached from his unguarded side. Swinging wildly with his blade, Castiel caught the Calornan against the side of their helmless head, dropping them immediately. He knew the rules of engagement, the ones Michael spoke before every battle: leave none alive. But he had never been very good at listening to his brother’s commands.

He whirled away, struggling to make his way back to the remaining knot of Hiemerian fighters. Their numbers were dwindling rapidly, and Castiel’s heart sank in his chest as he calculated the odds of their victory. It was a foolish attempt, this incursion over the mountains with such a small force, but Michael had insisted the element of surprise granted by moving their troops under cover of darkness would be enough to guarantee their success. But the Calornans had been waiting for them, and there had been no time to call a strategic retreat even if Michael would have considered such a move. 

Instead, they would likely all die here.

Castiel tightened his jaw and elbowed his way past a slight Calornan soldier, who seemed only too grateful to collapse to the soft grass below them and stay there. Ahead, he could make out Michael’s tall form and the particular crystal gleam of Icelight, the blade of the rulers of Hiemere. It whistled through the warm air as Michael swung it with his usual precision, felling Calornan soldiers without pause. 

He had almost reached his brother’s side when he noticed movement on the opposite flank. The banner of Calorna, the golden sun on a crimson field, was approaching. Castiel drew in a startled breath. He had not expected to see King John on the field, not against such a small force. He was a fierce fighter despite his advancing years, and his path through the tightly-packed bodies could only be leading him to one place, to one person.

Swearing under his breath, Castiel increased his pace and switched to purely defensive tactics. He needed to reach Michael’s side, and quickly. But the Calornans were pressing forward with renewed strength, bolstered by the sight of their king surging forward to meet Michael. The two had not come face-to-face on the battlefield in years, and as much as Castiel respected his brother’s prowess, he knew Michael was at a disadvantage here, outnumbered and on foreign soil.

Whether he was recognized as the Crown Prince or merely made himself a target by his refusal to halt and engage, a wave of enemy soldiers pressed towards Castiel, impeding his progress. He fought them off with sword and dagger and occasionally his gloved fists, twisting desperately to keep an eye fixed on Michael’s figure as he and King John drew nearer to one another. Taking advantage of his distraction, one of the Calornans landed a blow to his leg, and Castiel stumbled, though he managed to stay upright. With a snarl, he swung wildly with his sword and heard a thud as it encountered flesh. 

King John had reached Michael’s position while Castiel’s attention was otherwise engaged. A clearing had formed around them as they circled one another with wary, grudging respect. John was broader, more solidly built, his years of experience giving him an edge, but Michael was taller and had the endurance of youth on his side. Were the potential ramifications not so dire, their fight would have been a wonder to behold.

Every thrust, every parry was a perfectly-timed movement, and every block or sidestep was like the step of an intricate dance. Michael and John wove around one another, their blades clashing with a ringing noise that surprised Castiel with its melodious beauty. The rest of the field had fallen quiet, all attention on the two monarchs locked in deadly combat. John’s head was bare, as was the custom in Calorna, and the silver threads in his dark hair shone in the bright light of the sun, but he moved with the grace of a much younger man. Watching him, noting the way Michael’s movements became gradually less controlled, Castiel felt the first searing wave of fear strike his heart. His injured leg slowed him down, but there were no more Calornans in his way as he moved forward, eyes locked on the dueling kings.

He was still too far to hear what Michael said, but whatever it was caused John to let out an inhuman roar in accompaniment to his next movement. Michael dodged the blow, laughing, and that was when John struck again.

Castiel shouted a warning, but it was too late. John’s sword buried itself in Michael’s side, the force with which it was swung cutting through his armour. Michael’s eyes went wide, the laughter on his face replaced with shock. He sank slowly to his knees, head dropping down to his chest as the strength began to leave his body.

Distantly, Castiel heard someone shouting, and realized it was himself. He was still pushing forward, trying desperately to reach his brother. King John stepped forward, sword hanging loose in his grip as he drew a small, jewelled dagger from his belt and held it to Michael’s throat. But he did not immediately move it, and that pause proved his undoing.

With what was surely the last of his strength, Michael swung Icelight one last time. It cut deeply into John’s side, and he let out a gasp that echoed across the suddenly silent field. As he fell, his hand jerked violently, and Castiel’s scream was abruptly cut off as a heavy blow landed on the back of his head and his vision went dark.

When next he woke, Castiel did not recognize his surroundings. He was in a small, round, stone chamber, sunlight spilling through the slitted windows high above his head. Its brightness intensified the throbbing in his head, and he closed his eyes again with a groan. Reaching a hand to the back of his head, it came away sticky with matted blood. His leg still radiated fiery pain from the blow he had taken there, but it was bound tightly in cloth, and when he rose shakily to his feet, it bore his weight.

Castiel slowly turned his back to the harsh light and opened his eyes again, taking in the room around him. The stone was soft gold in hue and warm to the touch. The floor was made of wood of a similar shade, making it feel as though he was enclosed in a drop of pure sunlight. There was a narrow door at the opposite end of the room, with a barred window set at eye-level. He crossed towards it, pressing his face against the bars and craning his neck in an attempt to see out.

“You’re awake.” The voice was flat, but not unfriendly. Castiel drew back at the unexpected sound, a shadow falling across the window as the figure outside moved to stand in front of it. “Good.”

“Is it?” Castiel asked. “Where am I?”

“Don’t you know?” 

“If I knew, would I be asking?”

A pause, and then a huff of laughter. “Fair enough, young prince.” Another pause, this one more weighty. “Or rather, young king.”

So. Michael was indeed dead. Castiel swallowed roughly, remembering his brother’s laughter just before that final blow, his shock as it landed. The desperate strength of his own last thrust. Even so near to death, Michael would not deviate from his course. Castiel shook his head, refocusing his attention on the present. If Michael were indeed dead, then why had he been left alive? Surely the Calornans must have recognized him. Why miss the opportunity to eliminate not only the king but also his heir?

He doubted he would be given an honest answer to those questions. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and even with his face turned away from the sun, he felt uncomfortably warm. It rankled to be reduced to begging, but if he was to find a way out of this predicament, he would need his wits about him. “Please, might I have some water?”

“Step back,” the voice instructed. “Hands on the wall behind you. If you make any move, you will be dead before you have a chance to attempt escape.”

He had no weapons, his head throbbed with pain, and one leg was injured. Castiel had been accused of being many things in his life, but never unintelligent. He did as instructed, and the door slowly opened.

The voice revealed itself to belong to a slight young woman, her red hair glinting like fire in the bright light. In one hand, she carried a flask of water, and in the other, a wickedly sharp blade pointed directly at him. Castiel held himself still, eyes locked on hers. Apparently satisfied with his cooperation, she placed the flask on the ground and beat a hasty retreat.

Castiel drank deeply, and though the water lacked the clear coldness of the streams back home, it soothed his parched throat and swept aside some of the pain that fogged his brain. “Your king,” he said after a moment. “Did he survive?”

The guard took a long while to answer. “I am not at liberty to discuss the health of the king.”

Snorting, Castiel took another long pull from the flask. “Very well. If you please, I would like to speak with someone who is. Someone of sufficient rank to discuss the matter of my release.”

“Release?” she repeated, incredulous. “You cannot be serious.”

“Enough, Charlie.”

Castiel tensed at the sound of the new voice. Though it sounded young, it carried the weight of authority behind those simple words. The young woman-- Charlie-- sighed, but said, “Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Castiel heard her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she strode briskly away, and then silence. His hand strayed to his waist, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Whoever was on the other side of the door seemed content to allow the silence to grow, but Castiel was not. 

“I am Castiel, Crown Prince of Hiemere, and in light of my brother’s”-- he paused, hating the coolness with which he spoke of Michael’s demise but determined to remain steady-- “passing on the battlefield, king-in-waiting. I request an audience with a personage of suitable rank to discuss the terms of my release.”

Something that sounded suspiciously like a snort came from the other side of the door, and then it swung open, revealing a slender young man with dark hair and lines of exhaustion around his eyes, eyes that were far too intelligent for Castiel’s comfort. “Will the chief strategist of the Calornan forces do, Your Highness?”

Startled, Castiel blinked. “Kevin Tran?” he asked cautiously. Surely, the mastermind behind most of the Calornan military successes over the past few years could not be so--

“Not what you were expecting?” Kevin raised one eyebrow at him.

“I thought you would be older,” Castiel said frankly. 

Kevin smirked. “And I thought you would be taller.”

Dipping his head in acknowledgment of the hit, Castiel folded his hands in front of him, adopting a deliberately mild expression. “Sir Kevin--” he began, but the other man held up a hand to stop him.

“I don’t like this,” he said, frowning. “You’re a problem we have to solve, and quickly. Unfortunately, there are a number of other problems we have to solve, and your presence here complicates matters.”

Castiel raised his chin. So. He was to be quietly eliminated, then? “I understand,” he said. And he did. It was war, the same war their countries had fought for longer than anyone could remember. Every Calornan and Hiemerian knew they might one day die at the hand of the other, and Castiel had made his peace with death before riding into battle at Michael’s side. 

His only regret was that the line of succession was not clear. There were what seemed like hundreds of cousins in his family, and he winced to think of the scheming and in-fighting that the country would descend into as they struggled for power.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, bracing to hear the sound of Kevin’s sword sliding free of its sheath as he stepped forward. Castiel swallowed roughly, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and took comfort in the knowledge that the waiting would soon be over.

The blow he anticipated never fell. Instead, there was a soft clink as the chains around his ankles were unclasped, freeing him from his bonds. Castiel opened his eyes and met Kevin’s, gazing steadily back at him.

“I have a plan,” he said.

Kevin refused to answer any of Castiel’s questions as he led him through the twisting hallways of the castle. Still surprised to be breathing, Castiel did not give voice to his frustration. It would not do to irritate his captors into killing him after all. If the heat of this place did not kill him first. He wiped sweat from his brow and tried to not let his discomfort show, not wanting to reveal any weakness.

After nearly ten minutes of walking a path Castiel was certain was purposely chosen to disorient him, they arrived at a plain wooden door. A gold plaque embedded in its surface bore the inscription _Strategic Command_. 

Kevin ushered Castiel inside, taking the seat behind the desk for himself and immediately rifling through the stacks of paper there. Castiel warily lowered himself into the other chair, adjusting it so his back was not turned to the door. Kevin looked up at the slight squeak of the chair’s legs and shook his head, correctly reading Castiel’s movement. “You’re in no danger here.”

“Forgive me if I remain cautious,” Castiel said drily. “It is not so easy to abandon years of conditioning that tells me that I am in enemy territory.”

“You are.” Kevin gave him a humourless grin. “That’s the problem.”

“And your duty is to solve problems.” Castiel nodded. “Well. If I may be so bold, I would ask that your solution be reached as quickly as possible. My kingdom needs me.”

Kevin made a non-committal noise in reply. “I fear it won’t be that simple. Despite my proven record, there are some at court who disagree with everything I propose on mere principle. And currently, there are many who would like nothing better than to see your head separated from your body.”

It took all of Castiel’s considerable self-control not to flinch at the words. “I would prefer to avoid that eventuality.”

“As would I,” Kevin said. “You’re far more useful to us alive.”

At that, Castiel frowned. “Useful in what way?”

Before Kevin could answer, there was a firm knock at the door. “Enter,” Kevin called out, and Castiel leaned forward, suddenly tense, as the doorway was filled by an imposingly tall figure.

Castiel leaped to his feet, again reaching for a weapon he no longer bore. The man in the doorway twisted his lips in an expression of displeasure and held out his hands, a condescendingly placating gesture. “We have no fight here, Your Highness.”

“We always have a fight, Your Highness,” Castiel spat back. “Or do you prefer General?”

Prince Sam sighed and ran one hand through his hair. “At the moment, it’s in both capacities that I’ve come here. Since we are of equal rank, I think perhaps you could just call me Sam.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the young prince, the most feared Calornan military leader in generations. “Perhaps I will,” he said. “Though, unless your father has died and your elder brother has suddenly abdicated, we are no longer of equal rank.”

Sam dipped his head in what might have been sympathy. “Indeed.” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall with ease. “But if my memory serves me well, you will not truly be king until you are crowned in your own hall.”

Leaving Castiel gaping at such a cool dismissal, Sam turned to Kevin. “It isn’t looking good,” he said. “All the council members from Father’s generation are in an uproar. We’ve always been at war, they say. It is what defines us. There’s no way to make any sort of treaty work.”

“A treaty?” Castiel sat back down in his chair, looking between Kevin and Sam. “I would be prepared to entertain the possibility.”

He’d once proposed the idea to Michael himself. Michael had listened to his impassioned speech, grave-faced, and once Castiel had fallen silent, he had shaken his head and simply said, “No.” The next day, they had returned to the battlefield. 

Castiel was tired of fighting. Tired of killing. He had lost so many friends and family members over the years, culminating in Michael’s recent death. The death that had given him the power to finally change the course of his kingdom’s history. If he could use his new status to help bring about the end of this eternal war, he would do it in a heartbeat. 

But he was wise enough to know that it would come at a cost.

“I assume you had more details to bring to your council,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Sam. “Or was it the mere notion of a cessation of hostilities they were opposed to?”

Sam grimaced. “The latter, unfortunately.”

Castiel tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, pensive. Sam was a prince, and the General, but he was still not the highest-ranking Calornan. His words would not carry the full authority of the crown. Castiel remembered that last moment on the battlefield, Michael’s desperate swing, the surprise on King John’s face. “Tell me,” he said slowly, “how does your father fare?”

Sam’s mouth tightened, and he gave Kevin a displeased look. “I warned you he was clever,” Kevin said, unruffled. “I told him nothing.”

“I was there,” Castiel reminded them both. “I saw my brother’s stroke hit home. What does your father have to say about an end to the war, Prince Sam?”

If Michael had been committed to the war, King John had been obsessed with it. Under his rule, the battles were more frequent, more bloody, more devastating than they had ever been. Castiel had difficulty imagining that he would ever agree to bring about its end. Which meant--

“He lives,” Sam said tightly. “But he has not woken since he fell on the field, and our healers can do nothing for him.”

“He was struck by Icelight,” Castiel said quietly. “A blow from that blade is nearly always fatal.” He met Sam’s eyes and saw the resignation there. “He will not last long, I fear.”

Sam nodded, letting out a deep breath. “I know.”

“But then--” Castiel frowned. “The crown will pass to your older brother, will it not?” He knew little about Prince Dean, who took a far less active role in the military campaigns than either his father or his brother. “If anyone is to be persuaded of the value of a treaty, surely it is him.”

Much like Castiel, Dean had been the heir apparent for years. His duties frequently kept him within the walls of the castle while his father and brother rode off to war, and so Castiel had never seen him across the lines. From all accounts, he was a fierce fighter in his own right, though he had little occasion to display his prowess, but of his true feelings towards Hiemere and the war, Castiel had no idea.

“Precisely.” Kevin nodded. “Unfortunately, Dean is rather preoccupied at the moment. With the king unresponsive, he has all the duties of a ruler to deal with, in between sitting vigil at his father’s side.” He looked up at Sam, eyes nervous. “We have to resolve this quickly. Castiel cannot be crowned here, and if the Hiemerians choose a new king, presuming him dead, it will ruin everything.”

Castiel passed a hand over his forehead, grimacing at the dampness of it. The heat of this place was intolerable. “Let me see Prince Dean,” he said. “Let me speak with him. Surely we will be able to come to some sort of agreement.”

Sam and Kevin exchanged a long, wordless glance. “Very well,” Sam said. He gave Castiel a critical look, taking in the sweat-stained furs and heavy fabrics he wore. One corner of his mouth quirked up, revealing a good nature hidden behind his previous detachment. “But first, I think you may wish to freshen up.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean stared down at his father’s pale, drawn face and wondered how he had ever thought himself prepared for this situation.

The royal family of Calorna was under no illusions. They were at war, and had been at war for centuries. Their scions would die, and they would likely die in battle, the crown passing from one ruler to the next in unpredictable patterns. All his life, Dean had known his father would someday pass from this life, and assuming Dean still drew breath at that time, he would become king. 

But sitting here, watching as John’s face turned greyer, his breathing harsher, was more difficult than he had ever anticipated.

“Bring more wood.” His voice was rough with disuse, but the attendants standing nearby had no trouble hearing him in the unusually quiet room. “Stoke the fire higher.”

“Your Highness--” one of them started to interrupt, but Dean raised a cool eyebrow, and he subsided. 

“He’s too cold,” Dean muttered to himself. He reached out to press the back of his father’s hand and withdrew his own quickly, hissing in pain. John’s flesh was cold, colder than anything Dean had ever felt. His lips were turning blue, and there were crystals forming in his silver-streaked hair. They had to get him warm, but even the radiant sunlight and warm breezes could not help him. The fire was a hastily-constructed pile of wood, made by those who had rarely had occasion to require one, and it was not helping in the slightest.

King John of Calorna was dying, and Dean could do nothing to stop it.

How very like his father to drag the entire process out. It was a bitter, unkind thought, but Dean was too tired to chastise himself for it. John was nothing if not stubborn, and of course he would resist Icelight’s power for this long. The famed blade of the Hiemerian kings rarely left those it struck alive. 

The attendants brought in more wood, adding it to the roaring fire. Dean passed a hand over his sweating face and wiped it on his thin silk shirt, already ruined by the heat. Heat was what they knew in the eternally warm land of Calorna, but not like this. This was not natural for them, but neither was the wound that was slowly leaching the warmth and the life from King John’s body.

Someone cleared their throat behind Dean, and he spoke wearily without taking his eyes from his father. “Yes?”

“Your brother would like a word with you.”

Dean turned at the sound of Charlie’s voice, lower and less enthusiastic than normal. In her eyes, he saw compassion and understanding. She would not disturb him, and neither would Sam, unless it were truly important.

“I’ll stay with him,” Charlie offered. “We’ll send word if--”

She didn’t need to complete the sentence. They both knew there was no chance of recovery. There was only one way John’s condition could change.

Dean rose to his feet and swallowed roughly. “Thank you,” he said softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “In Kevin’s office, are they?”

“As usual.” A glimmer of Charlie’s habitual humour showed in her tight smile, and Dean did his best to answer it, though he was fairly certain he failed miserably.

The halls of the castle were blessedly cool in comparison with the sweltering chamber he left behind. Dean hurried through them, ignoring the whispers and pitying looks he drew from those he passed, driven by worries of what Sam had to tell him. It had to be of grave importance if it would take him away from their father’s side at this critical time. He hadn’t even had a chance to discuss the outcome of the battle with his brother-- because, of course, Dean hadn’t been there, had been sitting behind these stone walls while Sam and John fought for their country.

Since he and Sam had both reached fighting age, there had been one unbreakable rule among the three members of the royal family: only two of them could enter the field at any given time. One always had to remain behind, ensuring no catastrophic loss of their entire family in a single battle. For some time, Sam and Dean had been the ones to fight, but today, upon hearing that King Michael was there with a smaller than normal force, John had insisted on venturing forth. 

And it had killed him. Or would soon.

Dean’s mouth tightened as he turned down the hall that led to Kevin’s unprepossessing office. The wooden door was slightly ajar, so he pushed it open without knocking. He registered Kevin and Sam sitting at the desk, heads bent close over a sheaf of parchment, before he focused on the other individual in the room.

The stranger was dressed in casual Calornan garb, but Dean instinctively knew this was no Calornan. Dark hair, matted with sweat, was pushed back from a striking face, the lines of cheek and jaw cut with sharp precision. Bright blue eyes met his, and Dean stumbled back a step as he realized who he was facing.

“Castiel,” he breathed. The youngest son of the Hiemerian royal family. Or rather, considering the events of today’s battle, the only surviving son. He must have been taken alive from the field of battle, dressed in Calornan garb, and brought here for this meeting with Dean. 

Prince--King?-- Castiel rose smoothly to his feet and offered Dean a courteous but not at all obsequious bow. “Prince Dean? Thank you for coming.”

At that, Dean raised one eyebrow and turned to face his brother, who was watching with great interest. “What exactly is going on here, Sammy?”

“Hopefully,” Sam said, “the negotiation of a peace treaty between Calorna and Hiemere.”

_Peace_. It was such a small word, but such an unimaginable concept. All Dean’s life, they had been at war with Hiemere. And after his mother died, his father had been more committed to the war effort than ever. Like his father, Dean used to blame the Hiemerians for her death, but his desire for vengeance had faded over the years. He missed her every day, but he had grown wise enough to know that both sides had suffered devastating losses. Just as they had again this day.

He cleared his throat and returned Castiel’s bow. “My condolences on the loss of your brother,” he said. Meaningless words, perhaps, coming from the enemy, but if they were here to discuss terms of peace, it would be best to proceed politely. 

“Thank you.” Castiel inclined his head, expression grave. “And how fares your father?”

Dean shook his head tightly, glancing over at Sam, whose expression did not change. So he too had realized the truth of the situation. “I do not think he will last much longer. Unless”-- he paused-- “there is something you can do?”

Castiel shook his head with what looked like genuine regret. “Unfortunately, no.”

“That’s why you’re both here,” Kevin cut in. “Unless King John makes a miraculous recovery, very shortly you will both inherit the crowns of your respective kingdoms. And, unless my intelligence is incorrect, which it rarely is, you are both receptive to the idea of a cessation of hostilities between Calorna and Hiemere.”

It was true, of course, but Dean narrowed his eyes at Kevin regardless. “And how exactly did you acquire this intelligence?”

Kevin shrugged, undaunted by Dean’s stare. “In the usual manner.” He turned to Castiel and gave him a sharp grin. “You were a bit harder to watch, but we found ways.”

Surprisingly, Castiel did not seem offended or angered at the revelation that the Calornans had been spying on him. “You’ve been waiting for this for a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Sam answered. “My father--” His mouth tightened, and Dean winced at the coldness that entered his eyes. “He never listened to reason. I always knew there would be no chance of an alliance under his reign. But you, Dean.” He turned to look at him, hands held forth in a gesture of supplication. “You have a chance to change things. To put an end to this war. To stop all this unnecessary death.”

“Some would argue with you calling it unnecessary.” Castiel’s voice was quiet, but drew their attention regardless. “There will be those at my court who will insist that we must avenge my brother’s death, and I am certain there will be those here who will say the same with regard to your father.”

He was right, of course, but Dean shook his head. “By the end of the day, they will both be dead.” The harsh words rang heavily in the small chamber. “And that will be the end of it.”

Sam nodded slowly. “They died each at the hand of the other. A fitting end.” He glanced at Castiel as though gauging his reaction, but Castiel said nothing. For all that he was technically a prisoner here, he seemed remarkably unruffled by the proceedings, and Dean felt his respect for him growing. 

“So,” Castiel said. “We agree to end the fighting, and then what? I must return to my kingdom to take up my throne, or it will be usurped by one of my numerous cousins, and you will have to begin negotiations all over again.”

Kevin shook his head. “It isn’t that simple. If we just let you go, it will be taken as a sign of weakness. The court will never agree to it.”

“It’s a radical change we’re proposing,” Sam continued. “The people will need some sort of guarantee.”

Dean realized what they were hinting at in the same moment Castiel did. His hands tightened on the arms of his chair, and his voice was flat when he responded. “You’re saying I have to remain here.”

“Just for a few months,” Kevin rushed to assure him. “Long enough for both our kingdoms to become accustomed to the new state of things.”

Dean frowned, remembering long-ago lessons on the history of their lands and the differences between Calorna and Hiemere. “But you have to be crowned in your own hall, do you not?” he asked Castiel.

Castiel glanced at him, surprise in his eyes, and nodded. “Yes.” He turned to face Sam and Kevin once more. “If I am not crowned, my word will mean nothing.”

Again, Kevin shook his head. “Not entirely accurate.” He tapped a blank sheet of parchment and gave a smug smile. “You will write a letter to your own court, delivered by our messengers with your token so they may pass to Hiemere unharmed. You will appoint a regent in your absence, perhaps one of those cousins you mentioned. As the Crown Prince and the heir apparent, you are still the highest-ranking Hiemerian, and no one will be able to argue with your commands. Once sufficient time has passed to allow both our lands to grieve our fallen kings, you may return to Hiemere and take up your rightful throne, in eternal friendship with that of Calorna.”

Dean let out a low whistle as the ramifications of the plan slowly sunk in. “Kevin, you’ve thought of everything,” he said. He was, not for the first time, tremendously grateful that he had plucked Kevin from the Royal University and enlisted him as chief strategist. 

Castiel, however, did not look convinced. “It’s unfair,” he protested. “If it is to be a treaty of equal standing, why must I remain here?” He cast a quick look at Dean from under dark lashes, then looked away again. “It displays a lack of faith in me, in my word, and in my people.”

“It’s not meant to,” Sam said, every line of his body radiating tension. “But Castiel, you were taken prisoner. During a battle that we won. As much as we wish to be in the future, we are not on equal standing yet.”

Dean watched with trepidation as Castiel steepled his fingers together and rested his chin on them, eyes distant. “I do not like it,” he said eventually. “But if my temporary absence will bring peace to my kingdom, then I will suffer it as patiently as I can.”

Letting out a slow breath, Dean nodded at him. “Thank you,” he said. “We will do our best to ensure your suffering is as mild as possible.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth quirked upwards in a grin, and Dean felt his own lip twitch in response. It was strange, almost surreal, to sit here and discuss a peace treaty with a man who should have been his greatest enemy, and yet in that moment, Dean was certain that had they not grown up on either side of the great mountain range that divided their kingdoms, he and Castiel might have been good friends.

Sam cleared his throat, drawing Dean’s gaze back to him. Immediately, he tensed, recognizing the expression on his brother’s face, the one he wore when he was about to say something he knew Dean wouldn’t like. 

“Of course,” Sam said slowly, “there is one other thing that would go a long way in ensuring acceptance of the treaty.”

Dean frowned at him. “A sacred vow?” He turned to Castiel, who also looked mildly puzzled. “Yes, we could certainly have a priestess witness the signing, if you think it would be beneficial.”

Kevin grimaced, shaking his head. “That isn’t exactly what Sam was referring to.” He drummed his hands on the surface of the desk, then folded them neatly. “A sacred vow, yes, but of a very specific type.”

Castiel sucked in a quick breath, eyes flaring wide. Dean just stared at Kevin, uncomprehending. “What do you mean?”

But it was Sam who answered, his voice gentle. “Marriage, Dean. We mean a marriage vow.”

Dean opened his mouth, but no words emerged. For all that it was a perfectly logical step, the notion had never occurred to him. He snuck a glance at Castiel, who seemed equally surprised at the idea, but not, Dean was warmed to note, displeased.

However-- “You forget, Sam, that Benny and I have a long-standing arrangement in place.”

Sam shrugged. The dismissiveness of the gesture stung, and Dean glared at him. “We’ll talk to him. Benny knows his duty, and he will do what’s best for the kingdom.”

“Are you saying that I won’t?” Dean could barely keep his voice controlled. “I have a duty to the kingdom, but I also have my own honour to protect.”

“There was never any formal declaration,” Sam argued. “And Dean, you can’t pretend that you and Benny share some grand romance. His family is well-situated and influential, and an alliance between the two of you was always going to be practical. This”-- he waved a hand in Castiel’s general direction-- “is far more practical.”

The fact that Sam was completely correct in his analysis did not lessen Dean’s irritation. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Castiel spoke. “Might Prince Dean and I have a moment alone?”

Sam and Kevin exchanged a glance that spoke volumes, then rose in unison. “We’ll be just next door,” Kevin said. “Please, my lords, remember that this is not merely about you. The future of two kingdoms depends upon this treaty.”

Sam gave Dean one last wary look before closing the door behind him, and then Dean and Castiel were alone. Dean swallowed roughly, but could not think of anything to say. 

Fortunately, Castiel saved him from having to do so. “Who is Benny?” he asked, voice neutral.

Dean winced, but he figured Castiel deserved to know. “One of the royal guards,” he answered. “And a good friend.”

“You said there was an understanding between you,” Castiel continued. He was not looking at Dean, but staring off into the distance. “Do you love him?”

From anyone else, Dean would have resented the question. “No,” he said eventually. “I care for him, and as I said, he is a good friend. But Sam was right. The proposed alliance was always more political in nature. And it has never been made formal.”

“So there would be no broken hearts, nor broken word, if you were to end it?”

“No.” Dean let out a deep breath, sinking lower into his chair. He ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortably aware of how disheveled he must look after sitting so long at his father’s side. “And you?” he dared to ask. “Do you have an intended, back home in Hiemere?”

Finally, Castiel turned to face him. “No,” he said quietly. “There have been discussions, of course, but Michael was unwilling to entertain any of them seriously. I believe”-- his throat moved visibly as he swallowed-- “he thought himself invincible, and so the matter of succession never interested him much.”

“So.” Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “Is this something you would suffer, for the sake of your kingdom?”

To his surprise, a flush crept its way onto Castiel’s cheeks, which were more tanned than Dean might have expected from someone who came from a land of snow and ice. He slowly looked Dean up and down, dark lashes fluttering over his eyes. “I do not believe I would need to suffer,” he said quietly.

“Would they see it as an insult?” Dean wondered aloud, ignoring the thrill Castiel’s look sent through his body. “The two of us marrying, when for so long we have been enemies?”

Castiel shrugged, a graceful movement that drew Dean’s attention to the breadth of his shoulders beneath the thin white linen of his shirt. “Our kingdoms have been enemies,” he corrected. “You and I have not.”

Dean laughed in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “True,” he conceded. “But we know nothing about each other. We’ve only just met. What if we should grow to despise one another? We could not end the marriage and risk the dissolution of the treaty.”

“No,” Castiel said softly. “We could not.” He looked at Dean for a long moment, his expression betraying none of his thoughts. “And yet, we must not be expected to remain together at all times. Once I am released to return home and be crowned, we will both be occupied with the rule of our own kingdoms.”

Dean nodded slowly. Truly, Sam and Kevin had thought of everything. “So. It’s meant to be a temporary arrangement, then. To appease the people until things have calmed, and then we will go our separate ways.”

“Perhaps the occasional visit for appearance’s sake.” Castiel gave a bitter little laugh. “A marriage in name only.”

“But with it, peace.” Dean met his eyes and saw a matching look of resignation there. They both knew that the prospect of an end to the war was worth even this suggested farce of a marriage. If they could find common ground in that respect, perhaps there was a chance they could make this work. 

“Very well, then.” Castiel let out a slow breath and extended his hand. A silver ring set with a large blue stone glimmered on one finger, catching the sunlight spilling in through the small window. “Do we have an accord, Prince Dean?”

“We do,” Dean answered, as steadily as he could.

He reached out to clasp Castiel’s hand, but the instant their skin came into contact, Castiel drew back as though he’d been scalded. Dean, meanwhile, felt a flash of cold so intense it sent a shudder through his entire body, and he immediately tucked his hand into his side in a desperate attempt to warm it.

They stared at one another, both with wide eyes. “That was....unexpected,” Dean said slowly. He looked down at his hand, which looked paler than the other. “Your ring?” he suggested. “Perhaps I had a reaction to the metal?”

Castiel bit his lip, looking unconvinced, but pulled the ring off his finger before warily extending his hand once more. Gritting his teeth, Dean reached for it, and this time the cold hit him with the force of a sudden storm, leaving him bent over and gasping for breath. Castiel was no less affected, his shirt drenched with sweat and an angry red flush spreading from his hand up his arm.

Once he had recovered enough to speak, Dean said, “Well. This presents a problem.”

He had no expectations of intimacy. He would not dare dream of such a thing in a marriage of this sort. But even the ceremony itself would require them to join hands, and how could they do so if they caused one another pain merely by the whisper of skin against skin?

Castiel stared down at his hand and slowly raised his eyes to Dean’s. “I’ve never heard of such a thing happening.”

“How many times have a Calornan and a Hiemerian been given occasion to touch?” Dean asked. Castiel’s mouth opened as though he had a definite reply, and Dean waved it away. “Whatever the reason, we cannot let this be known.”

A frown hovered on Castiel’s face before it was replaced with a look of understanding. “If others knew, they would claim it as proof that our people are meant to be at odds with one another. That we fundamentally cannot be anything but enemies.”

Dean gave him a humourless smile. “Precisely.”

Castiel tucked his hand into his side and nodded decisively. “Then we will have to be extremely careful,” he said. “Nothing can jeopardize this alliance.”

Before Dean could answer, the door opened, and Sam tentatively stuck his head into the room. “Well?” he said. “Have you reached an understanding?”

Dean hated everything about this-- the dispassionate negotiations, the fact that it had all been planned by Sam and Kevin without his prior knowledge, the fact that Castiel looked as though he would rather be anywhere but here. The fact that just down the hall, his father lay dying, and Dean was calmly discussing ending the war that had given John purpose for so many years. 

He looked up and gave his brother a grim smile. “You may be the first to offer us your congratulations, Sam. Prince Castiel and I have agreed to be married.”


	3. Chapter 3

The events of the past few hours seemed so surreal, so impossible, that Castiel was tempted to ascribe them all to a heat-induced hallucination. That battle, the unexpected arrival of the Calornan forces with King John at their head. Michael’s death, without Castiel even having a chance to say goodbye. And now-- a betrothal. To the heir apparent to the Calornan throne.

“You look rather overwhelmed,” Dean said, voice pitched low. Kevin and Sam were involved in a heated debate on the other side of the room, something about whether it would be better to hold a public wedding ceremony to lend legitimacy to the occasion or to have it hastily performed in private before it could be somehow ruined. “It is a lot to adjust to, isn’t it?”

His kindness was as unexpected as all the other events of the day. Perhaps even more so. It helped more than he could express to know that he was not the only one reeling from such rapid and momentous changes in his life. Castiel managed a small smile and a rueful shrug. “I’m feeling rather light-headed,” he admitted. 

Dean made a noise of chastisement that seemed more directed at himself than at Castiel. “Forgive me,” he said. “You are our honoured guest now, not our prisoner.” He stood abruptly and pulled open the door, exchanging a whispered conversation with someone on the other side. “Is there anything else you require?” he asked, turning back to Castiel. “I don’t even-- were you wounded in the battle?”

Castiel shook his head. “A minor injury to my leg, but it appears to have been treated while I was unconscious.” It did pain him when he moved quickly, but he refused to acknowledge it. He still had some pride to maintain, and while his hunger and thirst were natural, this wound came from a Calornan sword. There would likely be some among the palace residents only too happy to see him suffer from it, and he had no intention of giving them that satisfaction. 

Kevin looked up, his eyes sharp. “We made sure to keep him in one piece,” he said. 

Because he was needed, or because they genuinely cared? For all that he was grateful for the relatively humane treatment he had received at the hands of the Calornans, it was clear Castiel was a mere pawn in this grand plan Kevin and Sam had hatched. Judging by the way Dean’s mouth tightened at Kevin’s words, he was equally displeased about it. But whether his irritation was on his own behalf or on Castiel’s, he could not be certain.

Diverted from his discussion with Sam, Kevin continued to look at Castiel with unnerving intensity. “Do you have a regent in mind?” he asked.

Castiel hesitated. He had so many cousins, all of whom could make a semi-valid claim to the throne of Hiemere, but he liked few of them and trusted even fewer. Jack would make a good candidate someday, but he was far too young and inexperienced. Hannah had no desire to rule. Balthazar--

“There is one cousin I might grant the title and responsibilities,” he said slowly. “Balthazar is the son of my father’s sister, several years older than me and well-liked by the people. He’s far more intelligent than he pretends to be, but I would not fear him usurping the throne in my absence. He would enjoy the pomp and ceremony of being my regent, but would eventually tire of the responsibility. Hopefully just in time for me to return home and take up my kingship.”

Kevin nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I know of Lord Balthazar. Excellent choice, for all the reasons you listed. And from my reports, he’s long been a supporter of peace between our kingdoms, even if he does frequently couch it in terms of protesting the lack of time for parties and pageantry.”

Always with his reports. The notion that Kevin had been watching them for so long was disconcerting, even if was what had led to this hope of peace. The Hiemerians had never been able to establish a presence in Calorna for the purpose of gathering intelligence. Castiel wondered what else Kevin and his people had observed over the years, what secrets they had gleaned from their observations. He shivered slightly despite the heat of the room, and Dean made a motion as though to reach out, then drew back, frowning.

Castiel gave him a warning glance, raising his eyebrows significantly as he nodded towards Sam and Kevin, who were arguing again. Dean nodded tightly, eyes shadowed. A knock at the door spared them any further silent conversation, an attendant slipping in and laying a bronze tray overflowing with fruit and cheese on the desk between them. She dropped a respectful curtsey, eyes passing over Castiel in curiosity, then left the room.

“Did you send for this?” Sam frowned, cutting off his impassioned speech. “Dean, you can’t just bring attendants in here. If she saw Prince Castiel, if she recognized him--”

Dean waved a dismissive hand in the air. “He’s dressed like one of us. She was barely here for a moment. I highly doubt she would know who he is. Besides.” He threw an unreadable look at Castiel. “I think we ought to show my betrothed a little more courtesy, don’t you?”

Sam’s lips tightened, but he sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he nodded. “You’re right. I apologize, Prince Castiel.”

Dean poured a glass of water and moved to pass it to Castiel, then set it back on the desk within his reach instead. Kevin reached for a piece of fruit at the same time, and if his sharp gaze noted the strangeness of Dean’s gesture, he said nothing. Castiel took the glass and drank deeply, feeling his headache recede slightly as he gulped it down. Dean watched him carefully, offering a tentative smile as he refilled Castiel’s glass. 

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, broken only by the sounds of eating and drinking. For all that Dean had spoken of courtesy, it was clear none of them were easy around Castiel, and he could not even fault them for it. This was no polite diplomatic mission, no pre-arranged reception. People from both their kingdoms had died only hours ago, engaged in combat with one another. 

Their king lay dying even now.

Castiel swallowed down his bitterness as he wondered what had become of his brother’s body. If he had been brought back to Hiemere to be properly entombed in the chambers beneath the temple with all the past kings and queens. He set his glass down on the desk with a thud that drew the gaze of the others in the room. “What happened to Michael?” he asked. He swallowed roughly as he clarified. “To his body. And to his sword.”

Kevin and Sam exchanged cautious glances while Dean grimaced. “We did not touch it,” Sam said quietly. “Either of them. We were preoccupied with our own king, and with you.”

Castiel nodded sharply. So. The Hiemerian forces would have borne Michael’s body away with them as they made their retreat. He should have been there with them, not wilting away in this strange, suffocating land. “I would like to visit your temple, if permitted. To offer prayers on my brother’s behalf.”

He was quickly becoming tired of those looks that Kevin and Sam exchanged, the wordless conversations that passed between them. “That could be arranged,” Kevin said. “Provided you are properly guarded. For your own protection, of course.”

“Of course.” Castiel bared his teeth in a decidedly unfriendly smile. So they did not trust him, not entirely. He supposed he could not blame them for assuming he would make an attempt to escape. But he had agreed to this alliance and to the marriage that would secure it. He would not go back on his word under any circumstances, but particularly not when the stakes were so high.

“We’ll need to find suitable quarters for you as well,” Kevin continued. “More fitting to your station than your current accommodations, but out of sight of most of the court, at least for now.”

“And in some interior corridor where there’s little chance of my wandering outside the castle walls, I assume?” Castiel arched an eyebrow at Kevin and was pleased to see him quail slightly, the first time his composure had broken even in the slightest.

Dean snorted, his eyes alight with amusement. “I see you won’t be cowed or intimidated, Prince Castiel. And I’m glad of it.” He turned to Kevin and gave him a sharp shake of his head. “Enough, Kevin. I know it’s your job to be suspicious, but you chose the prince for this role for a reason.” His gaze settled back on Castiel, the golden lights in his green eyes warm in a way that was not unpleasant in the slightest. “If we cannot trust his commitment to the alliance, there is no sense continuing with your plan.”

Kevin sighed, closing his eyes as though praying for patience, but then nodded. “You’re right, of course. “ He offered Castiel a lopsided smile. “It’s difficult to let my wariness slip, but I will try harder.”

Before Castiel could reply, a knock sounded at the door. Dean immediately leapt to his feet, casting an anguished look at Sam, who followed suit as Dean threw open the door. The same red-haired guard Castiel had first encountered stood there, her face tight with misery, and she did not even have the chance to speak before Dean was out the door, not even sparing a backwards glance for Castiel or the others.

“So,” Kevin said into the silence. “The king--”

The guard-- Charlie, if Castiel remembered correctly-- shook her head. “Not yet,” she said quietly. “But he’s getting worse. He cannot last much longer. I thought Dean”-- she broke off, glancing quickly at Sam--”and you, of course, would want to--” 

“You thought correctly.” Sam reached out and patted her shoulder, his height and breadth making her look even slighter in comparison. His face was tight with an emotion Castiel couldn’t identify, but his voice was clear. “I’ll join him shortly. Kevin, keep working on that letter to the Hiemerian court. We’ll have Castiel look it over and sign it later.” His sharp hazel eyes met Castiel’s, a hint of a challenge there. “I’ll escort him to a suitable room and arrange for his visit to the temple.”

Charlie saluted with visibly trembling hands, then turned sharply on her heel to clatter off after Dean. Kevin was already engrossed in his documents again, muttering to himself as he wrote something down and immediately scratched it out. Castiel rose, feeling the room sway slightly around him and shaking off his dizziness as best he could. Sam, thankfully, did not seem to notice, indicating with a gesture that Castiel should follow him in the opposite direction than Charlie and Dean had taken.

They did not speak until Sam stopped in front of a plain wooden door in a secluded corner of the castle. Unfamiliar as he was with the castle’s layout, Castiel could tell it was along an exterior wall, and he smiled inwardly, knowing he had Dean’s intervention to thank for that. 

Sam pushed open the door and waved Castiel inside. “We’ll move you again once the marriage is official,” he said. “But for now, I hope you find these quarters suitable.”

The room was not overly large, but neither was it cramped. A large, comfortable-looking bed was tucked into an alcove, a chair and desk placed in front of a large window that let the bright sunlight in. Castiel nodded his approval. “Yes, this will do nicely.” 

“I’ll send someone to escort you to the temple soon,” Sam promised. “But for now, I must stress the importance of remaining unseen.”

Castiel barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He would have thought by this point Sam would have credited him with at least a little more intelligence. “Yes, I understand. I won’t do anything to jeopardize your grand plan.”

Sam flinched visibly. “It’s easy enough for you to be flippant,” he said tightly. “You’ve been offered an escape from likely death and the opportunity to keep your crown.”

At that, Castiel gave a bitter laugh. “And what is this costing you, Prince Sam?” he asked. “As far as I can see, the only one making any sacrifices on your country’s behalf is your brother.” Sam flinched again, his cool expression slipping as Castiel continued. “Tell me. How long have you been planning this? You do realize that if Dean and I do in fact marry, he will never be able to find happiness with anyone else? We will be committed to one another for the sake of the alliance for the rest of our lives. Did you think about that at all, you and Kevin? What it would cost Dean?”

Sam made a sharp movement, and Castiel raised his chin, preparing for a blow that never came. “Of course I did,” Sam hissed. “I lay awake night after night, wondering if this was the right thing to do. If I could possibly ask this of Dean. But--” He shook his head sharply, his hair falling forward into his face. “It was always some vague future possibility. We knew there was no chance of a treaty while my father still lived, and even now I can barely imagine a world without him in it. We hoped and dreamed for an end to the war, and we made a plan to bring it about, but somehow we never expected it to be an issue so soon.”

He let out a deep breath, slumping slightly against the stone wall, and for the first time in their acquaintance Castiel remembered that he was only twenty-five years old. The weight of command on his shoulders made him seem older. His father was dying somewhere in this vast castle, and rather than being at his side, Sam was here, dealing with Castiel, putting aside his own emotional needs to bring about a better future for his kingdom.

“I hate that we had to ask Dean to give up his promise to Benny, or any possible future with anyone else. I hate that we couldn’t speak of it without being accused of seeking to supplant my father.” He spread his hands before Castiel in a gesture of helplessness. “But if it means an end to this blasted war, I would do it all again. Without hesitation.”

And that lack of hesitation, that willingness to do what was necessary, Castiel realized, was what made him such a formidable opponent. He dipped his head in acknowledgment and said only, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

At that, Sam managed a small smile. “As do I.” He let out a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it away from his face. “When you go to the temple, pray for us all.”

“I will.” Castiel stood in the doorway and watched him stride away, his long legs carrying him quickly to join Dean at their father’s side. To watch him die. 

Sighing, Castiel closed the door behind him and took a closer look at his room. Perhaps an interior room would have been better after all. The strong sunlight made his eyes water, but fortunately there were light curtains he could draw across the window to block out some of the heat. There was a pitcher of water on the stand beside the bed and he gratefully poured himself a glass to sip on while he explored. 

Compared to the cell he had woken in, it was luxurious indeed. The furniture and bedding were of the highest quality, and everything was gleaming and clean as though his presence had been expected. He wondered again exactly how long Sam and Kevin had been preparing for this day, hoping against all reason that the pieces would fall into place: that he and Dean would both be poised to take up their crowns, that they would both survive long enough to do so, that they would agree to exchange their personal freedom for the good of both kingdoms. Truly, he marveled at the audacity of such a design even if he did still resent it slightly. 

A knock at the door distracted him from his thoughts, and he opened it to find a grim-faced guard looking at him. “My name is Victor,” he said curtly. “I’m here to escort you to the temple.” 

He did not look pleased about it in the slightest, and Castiel could not blame him. Watching over the captured prince of Hiemere was surely not a desirable assignment. So he did not scold Victor for his rudeness, merely inclined his head and set his cup aside. “I am ready when you are.”

Something that might have been respect flashed in Victor’s eyes, and he allowed Castiel to fall into step beside him rather than leaving a noticeable distance between them as they strode through the halls. “The temple is outside the castle walls, but not far,” Victor said over his shoulder. “I’m taking us on a longer route to avoid being seen.”

Castiel appreciated the explanation, and the fact that Victor had bothered to offer one at all. “Thank you,” he said. “I understand that my presence here could be...upsetting, to some.”

Victor snorted, not breaking stride. “To put it mildly.” He stopped suddenly, turning to meet Castiel’s eyes. “I’ve seen you on the field. You’re skilled, competent, strong. But you’re not wasteful. You never take life when you don’t need to.” He shrugged loosely and turned away again. “I don’t know why you’re here, walking around freely, but if the General trusts you, that’s good enough for me.”

It was a strange sort of compliment, but Castiel was nevertheless pleased by it. “Thank you,” he said again. Clearly Victor had no idea of the plan Kevin and Sam had hatched, so he offered no explanation for why Sam had instructed that he be given such considerate treatment. Instead, he kept quiet as Victor continued to lead him through the castle. 

Outside the walls, the heat was even stronger, the sun beating down on Castiel with unrelenting warmth. He gritted his teeth and kept his head held high as Victor turned onto a smooth path that led along the valley floor. He could see the temple ahead of them, high stone walls the same colour as the castle and soaring arches that reached high into the sunlit sky. It was beautiful, but it also made Castiel long fiercely for home, for crystal and ice and bare-branched trees, snow drifting gently from the sky and settling on every surface. 

There were a few yellow-robed attendants tending to the stone walls of the temple as they approached, and though they looked up as Victor and Castiel drew near, they did not appear to recognize him. Of course, they would not have had occasion to have met him on the field of battle, and dressed as he was in Calornan garb, he could have been anyone. It was an odd feeling, that anonymity, and Castiel frowned as Victor gestured him through the vaulting arch that led into the sanctuary. 

In design if not in materials, the temple was much like the one at home. A large, airy inner sanctum was surrounded by smaller rooms for solitary prayer, and the central altar occupied a place of prominence directly facing the entrance. A few worshippers knelt there, lips moving in silent prayer, but Castiel did not feel threatened by their presence. He stepped forward to join them, Victor fading unobtrusively into the background.

Castiel stared up at the enormous mural above the altar. The colours were more vibrant, the landscape reflecting the conditions of Calorna rather than those of Hiemere, but he was able to recognize the events depicted regardless. In the centre of the mural, a beam of bright light shone, its rays spreading outward towards the corners. Beside it, a pool of darkness reached out equally distant, the two of them locked in eternal combat. Below, a mountain range spread beneath them, the same range that divided Castiel’s kingdom from this one.

The bitter struggle between Plenty and Void was what had created the two kingdoms. Two forces of nature, equally matched and eternally at odds with one another, they fought for centuries before Plenty cast Void down. Void’s prison was deep below the mountains, the peaks formed by the earth disturbed by its plunge. And on either side of the mountains, human kingdoms sprang up, Plenty’s creative force finally free to spread unchecked after its victory. Both kingdoms were blessed by Plenty, but the mountains separated them, making those blessings manifest themselves in different ways. In Hiemere, cold reigned supreme, while here in Calorna, warmth was what they had in abundance. Two extremes, as opposed to one another as Plenty and Void had been. No wonder they had always been at war.

But not for much longer. Castiel bowed his head in prayer, remembering the sequence of events that had led them here. None of this would have been possible were Michael still alive. For all his stubbornness, his pride, and his frequent tendency to treat Castiel as a child, he had been his brother, and Castiel had loved him. He had not thought to lose him so soon, nor so quickly. He thought back to those last moments, the way Michael had been laughing just before John’s blow landed. That strangely small jewelled dagger at his bared throat. What had Michael been thinking, in those precious seconds? Had he thought of Castiel at all? Known that the kingdom was in good hands, or worried for its future?

Castiel shook off those thoughts and moved through the words of the traditional blessing for the dead, praying that Michael’s name would be remembered with love and with honour. When he finished, he added the prayer for those about to embark on a new stage of their lives, thinking both of himself and of Dean. 

He had never given a great deal of thought to marriage. He expected it would happen eventually, but all his lovers had been of a temporary nature, and never had he experienced _love_, such as it was. Not that he would expect to do so with Dean. It was a purely strategic partnership they were entering into, and one that could apparently not be expressed in a physical manner even if they both desired to do so. Castiel stared down at his hands, wondering how it was he had never heard of the way a Calornan’s touch would burn. Perhaps he would ask the priest or priestess if they knew of such a thing.

But before he could go forth in search of an attendant, he heard a loud noise coming from the direction of the castle. It sounded like the tolling of a bell, but heavier and deeper than he had ever heard. The other worshippers all looked up, and Victor swore audibly even over the sound of the bells.

Victor shook his head slowly, then reached into the pocket of his scarlet tunic and withdrew a thin strip of black fabric, tying it around his upper arm. “The king is dead,” he said. “Long live the king.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean rested his elbows on the thick stone wall, watching as the sun sank behind the low hills to the west. The last rays burned gloriously red, a fitting tribute for the king whose reign had ended today, almost as though the land itself offered a final salute. 

He could barely believe his father was gone. After Charlie had fetched him back to the king’s chambers, John had endured another three hours, growing gradually colder and paler until finally, the breath no longer passed from his lungs to his lips. It was quiet, almost peaceful. Not at all the kind of end Dean had predicted for his vivid, temperamental, combative father. 

Sam had dropped one hand onto Dean’s shoulder, tightened it briefly, then given him the proper salute from a general to a king. Dean had blinked at him, swallowed roughly, and responded with the appropriate gesture. And then Sam was gone, immediately off to deal with the complex matter of preparing one royal funeral, one coronation, and one surprise wedding. Fortunately, respect for Dean’s loss kept him from having any duties to perform, at least for tonight, and so he had come to the top of the castle walls to watch the sun set and to reflect on the events of the day.

He did not feel any different. Maybe that would only come with the coronation, with the weight of the golden crown on his head. Or maybe he was simply in denial, still expecting to hear his father’s rumbling voice summoning the soldiers to the field one last time. He felt no sadness, not yet. He would have to accept his father’s passing before he could react to it.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs below him, and Dean peered down to see a familiar figure approaching, a lantern held in one hand. He did not call out a greeting, but he stayed where he was until Benny came to stand beside him, hanging the lantern from a nearby hook and mimicking his pose. 

They stayed like that, in companionable silence, until the sun had fully sunk behind the hills and the lantern was their only source of light.

Finally, Dean said, “I keep wondering if things might have been different, if I had been on the field today.”

He couldn’t seem to shake the thought from his mind: would he have been able to reach his father in time? Or might he have died in his place? 

Benny shook his head slowly, giving the statement the consideration it deserved. “Maybe,” he said. “But different is not always better.”

“Yes.” Dean let out a deep breath, slumping forward against the wall. “I’m afraid I’m not ready for this, Benny.”

A heavy hand settled on his back, the warmth and weight of it solid, reassuring, familiar. “You are,” Benny assured him. “Your father-- well, he had his good qualities. But you’re a better man than him, Dean, and you will make a better king.”

Dean leaned into the touch, letting it ground him. “Do you truly believe that?”

“I do,” Benny said firmly. “Dean, you’ve been trained for this since birth. And more than that, you care about the people, not just about a desperate quest for vengeance.”

“Benny,” Dean rebuked him, though there was no real conviction in his voice.

“I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, Dean, but you know it’s the truth. Ever since your mother’s death, your father lost sight of what was truly important. He was obsessed with the war, and look where it got him.”

It hurt to hear his family’s history reduced to such simple words, but Dean knew his friend was right. When Queen Mary died, catching a chill from a viciously cold wind that had blown down from the mountains, King John’s hatred of the Hiemerians was increased tenfold. He blamed them for her death though it was no stroke of their swords that took her life. Dean had only been ten years old at the time, but he remembered his father’s rage, his stormy grief. And then John had been away for so long, off fighting the war that could never be won, leaving his two children essentially parentless. 

“We’ve arranged a treaty,” Dean said, the words escaping his mouth before he could stop them. “With the soon-to-be-king of Hiemere. He’s here, in the castle. Sam and Kevin have drawn up a plan.”

“A treaty?” Benny repeated slowly. “A...peace treaty?”

Dean could not blame him for being so confused. It was not the sort of thing anyone would have anticipated, especially not so quickly after John’s death. “Yes,” he replied. “A peace treaty. An end to the war.”

Benny was silent for a long moment, and then he asked, “At what cost?”

Dean should have known he wouldn’t be able to fool him. The weight of Benny’s hand on his shoulder, once comforting, now felt smothering. Vividly, Dean remembered the flash of icy cold that had passed from Castiel’s hand to his own when they had touched, the shiver that had spread through his entire body. He owed Benny, of all people, the truth about what this treaty would mean, and he could not in good conscience accept his comfort, his touch, without it feeling somehow dishonourable now.

So he stepped back, letting Benny’s hand fall into the space left behind, and squared his shoulders, looking Benny directly in the eye. “A marriage,” he said quietly. “Between Prince Castiel and myself.”

Benny let out a slow breath. “What is he like? Their prince. I’ve seen him on the battlefield, but that’s not enough to truly judge him.”

Dean frowned, surprised at Benny’s line of questioning. “You’re not--” He hesitated, spreading his hands helplessly before him. “Benny, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Benny smiled, more understanding and forgiveness in his eyes than Dean felt he deserved. “Dean, there were never any promises between us. And we both know there’s no romance, either. We might have been happy together, but if you’re concerned about my hurt feelings, don’t be.”

“You would have been my co-ruler,” Dean pointed out. “If nothing else, that loss doesn’t distress you?”

“No.” Benny shrugged philosophically. “I’m a soldier, Dean. Not a king. And now you’re telling me that because you will be marrying the Hiemerian prince, I have a chance to be something else. Whatever I want to be.” He paused, mouth tightening. “I just hope you aren’t sacrificing too much of your own happiness.”

Dean was not entirely sure how to answer that. He was set to marry a stranger, someone who by all rights should have been his enemy. Someone, as it turned out, he could not even touch without excruciating pain. And yet he did not view the upcoming marriage with resentment, or even nervousness. Despite their brief acquaintance, he was assured that he and Castiel had a great deal in common. Besides, it would be a mere formality, and it would not be long before Castiel returned to his own kingdom. Even if they could only manage to tolerate one another, it would be enough to secure the treaty and to build a new relationship between their kingdoms. 

“I do not think I will be,” he said eventually. “And not only because there is no sacrifice too great for this end.”

A slow, teasing smirk spread across Benny’s face. “That handsome, is he?”

Dean laughed and shoved at his chest, grateful that Benny would not be able to see the flush he could feel rising in his cheeks. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Of course not, Your Highness,” Benny said. The laughter behind his eyes faded as he corrected himself. “Your Majesty.”

Biting his lip, Dean shook his head. “Please. Don’t.” He was not prepared to deal with the formalities of kingship, and especially not from his best friend. “I’m still Dean. Just--”

“Just more,” Benny said softly. He reached out and gripped Dean’s shoulder, and this time, Dean did not push him away. He knew the spirit in which the gesture was made, and he appreciated it. 

Footsteps sounded on the stairs once more, and Dean frowned, wondering who else might be coming here at this hour. Benny took a step forward, hand straying to the sword at his hip, deliberately placing himself between Dean and whoever was approaching. From behind his imposing bulk, Dean could not see anything but the flickering light of another lantern growing gradually brighter. Then Benny’s shoulders relaxed, his hand hanging freely at his side as he stepped back.

“It’s only Victor,” he announced. “Did you miss us, Victor?”

The three of them had long been good friends, and Victor merely rolled his eyes at Benny’s teasing. “Not precisely,” he replied. “Someone craves an audience with you, Your Highness.”

Dean’s frown deepened. Sam would not need to make such a request, nor would any of his other friends--

The shadowy figure behind Victor stepped forward into the lanternlight, and Dean blinked in surprise. Castiel’s face was grave, his eyes shadowed, but he made a small, courteous bow that Dean returned instinctively. 

“Dismissed,” he said to Benny and Victor, giving them both brief nods. “Prince Castiel and I can surely look after ourselves.”

“Ah,” Benny said under his breath. “This is the Hiemerian.” He hesitated a moment, then reached out to clap a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, left bare by the sleeveless linen shirt he wore. Castiel’s eyes went wide, and Dean tried to call out a warning, but he was too slow. Benny’s hand landed on Castiel’s shoulder and they both let out anguished gasps that had Victor reaching for his sword in one fluid motion.

Cursing under his breath, Dean threw himself between Victor and Castiel, hands held out in front of him. “Wait,” he pleaded. “Victor. That’s an order.”

“What did you do to him?” Victor asked flatly, looking at Castiel over Dean’s shoulder. 

Castiel clutched his shoulder, mouth tight with pain, and said, “I did nothing.”

“We don’t know what it means,” Dean said, swallowing roughly. “But it seems a Calornan and a Hiemerian cannot touch without causing one another pain.”

He watched, holding his breath, as Victor and Benny worked through the ramifications of his words. Benny clicked his tongue in what seemed to be sympathy, while Victor mostly looked shocked. 

“You must not speak of this.” Dean’s voice was low but urgent. “I beg of you.”

Benny nodded immediately, while Victor’s eyes flickered to Castiel again before he sighed and did the same. “You have my word.”

“Mine as well,” Benny said. He looked at Castiel and grimaced. “My apologies, Prince Castiel. I meant you no harm.”

“Nor did I to you,” Castiel replied gravely. “I would shake your hand, but--”

Benny laughed and offered a brief salute instead. “I like him,” he murmured under his breath, only loud enough for Dean to hear him. “Don’t be up here all night, then.”

Dean waved a dismissive hand at him and clasped his hands behind his back as Benny led Victor away, the sound of their footsteps quickly swallowed up by the night. He and Castiel stood a few feet apart, staring at each other, but Dean could not think of a single thing to say.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said eventually. “About your father.”

Dean shrugged, uneasy. “It was peaceful, in the end.” He cast a sidelong look at Castiel, admiring the way the lanterns flickered over the strong lines of his cheeks and jaw. “Your brother--”

He was not there. He did not know how King Michael had died. But he doubted it had been as bloodless as his father’s passing.

Castiel grimaced, pushing a hand through his hair. “Yes,” was all he said, confirming Dean’s unspoken suspicions. Two very different kingdoms, two very different kings, and two very different deaths.

“And so here we are,” Dean said softly. His grief over his father’s passing was tangled with his tentative hope for the future, and he expected it was the same for Castiel. They had both lost so much, but stood to gain so much in its stead. 

“Here we are,” Castiel echoed. He took a few steps closer, peering out over the land shrouded in darkness. “It’s not at all what I expected.”

“In what ways?” Dean asked.

Castiel shrugged, still looking out over the wall. “All I’d ever seen of your land before was the battlefield. There was never any time to admire it, to see the beauty beneath the harshness of your sun.”

“It must be very different, though.” Dean followed Castiel’s gaze into the dark and tried to imagine the view from the castle of Hiemere. He had never taken part in one of the few ventures across the mountains that had occurred during his lifetime. 

“It is.” Castiel’s face was still, but he held his shoulders stiff in a way that spoke of deliberate stoicism. “You have never seen it, have you?”

Dean shook his head, and Castiel closed his eyes, the dark sweep of his eyelashes stark against his cheeks in the flickering light of the lantern. “There is so much less colour than here. Everything is white and gray and blue, shimmering and pure. The sun shines fiercely, but it deceives us, because the brightest days are often the coldest. The waterfall that tumbles down from the mountains is eternally frozen, like a sculpture formed by the hands of Plenty itself.”

The longing in his voice pierced Dean’s heart like a dagger. “It sounds beautiful,” he said. “I promise you, we’ll get you home as quickly as we can. This whole scheme”-- he sighed, shaking his head-- “I know how important it is. But your duty to your people is important too.”

Castiel turned to look at him, expression grave. “Thank you,” he said softly. And then, like the sun breaking over the horizon, a smile gradually lifted the corners of his mouth. “And who knows? Perhaps one day you will see my home. After all, we are to be married.”

Surprised into laughing, Dean reached out as though to sling a friendly arm around Castiel’s shoulders, barely stopping himself in time. The smile slid off Castiel’s features, and Dean’s own mouth tightened. Despite the long list of reasons they ought to hate one another, he was quickly coming to enjoy Castiel’s company, to see him as a friend and as an ally. And yet he could not show his companionable affection through physical gestures the way he would with Benny, or Victor, or even Sam. 

He drew back and offered Castiel a rueful smile. “I should not have--”

“It’s fine.” Castiel’s voice seemed slightly strained, but he smiled at Dean once again, and Dean breathed easier for it. “It is getting late, though. I think we ought to retire.”

Under other circumstances, Dean might have shivered to hear those words in Castiel’s low, rough voice. But there was no sense in dreaming of touches that could never be. So Dean merely nodded, made a brief bow, and said, “Please, allow me to escort you to your room.”

“Such courtesy,” Castiel remarked as they started their way down the steps. 

Dean could not tell whether he was teasing, or whether he was genuinely surprised at being treated as-- well, as something other than the enemy. So he stopped abruptly and turned, looking up into Castiel’s face. “It may not yet be common knowledge,” he said, “but you are my betrothed. As such, you are due every courtesy granted by your royal status, plus some. If anyone-- and I do mean anyone-- dares to treat you with anything less than the honour you deserve, they will have me to answer to.”

With the steps placing Castiel above him, Dean was perfectly positioned to see the movement of his throat as he swallowed roughly. Castiel’s eyes were wide, and he let out a shuddering breath before finally saying, “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Dean told him, turning away, embarrassed at his own passionate declaration. “It’s just common decency.”

Castiel did not comment on that, but Dean felt the weight of his gaze on his back all the way down the rest of the steps. They passed through the halls of the castle in silence, only a few attendants making hasty bows and stepping out of their way, all others long since gone to their beds. Outside Castiel’s chamber door, Dean made another bow, deeper this time. He felt somewhat ridiculous, but he had meant what he told Castiel, and he was determined to lead by example. In this way, and in all others.

“Goodnight, Your Highness,” he said. 

At the use of his title, Castiel shook his head. “Please, might you use my given name?” He sounded hesitant, almost shy. “Neither of us is above the other in rank, and we are both in a rather nebulous state when it comes to our titles. It would be”-- he hesitated for a moment, then shrugged-- “appreciated, if we could lose some of the formality between us.”

It was a liberty Dean would not have dared to take, but now that he had permission-- in fact, had been requested to do so-- saying Castiel’s name out loud seemed strangely right. “Very well, then.” He smiled. “Good night, Castiel.”

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel replied. He paused as though about to say something else, then shook his head, gave a small smile, and shut the door carefully behind himself.

Dean hovered in the hallway for a moment, then slowly made his way back to his own chambers. If he followed tradition, this would be the last night he spent in them. After the coronation the next day, he would be expected to take up residence in the monarch’s chambers, but he shuddered at the thought. Just hours ago, he had watched his father die in those rooms. He could not imagine moving into them so soon. 

At least, he thought to himself in grim amusement, no one would dare question his authority in declaring such a thing. Not once he was king.

Perhaps due to the uncomfortable reality that so many reigning monarchs died young, lost to the war with Hiemere, Calornan coronation ceremonies were relatively simple. Efficient, even, in the way they led directly from the funeral of the previous ruler into the crowning of the next.

Dean stood at the front of the assembled mourners, staring at the pyre upon which his father’s body had been placed. He had attended other funerals here, of course, but the weight of today’s events lent a gravity to the situation that kept his posture stiff, his face blank. He still could not find it in himself to grieve his father’s passing, too overwhelmed by what it meant, both for himself and for the kingdom. Fortunately, he had little to do at this part of the ceremony: all the ritual words and actions were left to the High Priestess.

Rowena was clad in a robe of pure gold cloth that shimmered in the sunlight that spilled into the temple’s central courtyard. Her bright red hair mimicked the colour of the flames as she lit the pile of wood beneath John’s body, relinquishing it to the fire. “The warmth of the sun sustains us in life,” she said, her voice ringing out through the open air. “But in death, it is to the fire that we turn, to burn away the flesh while igniting the memory of the spirit inside it.” She gazed out towards the crowd, and her eyes met Dean’s. “King John burned brightly in life, and brightly he will burn now. In the pain of his passing, may we find comfort in the knowledge that he will never truly leave us, just as the warmth from the fire lingers long after the flames have been extinguished.”

It should have been comforting, to think that his father would always be with him in some way. And yet Dean swallowed roughly, wondering what his father would think were he to see what Dean had planned. How he would change the course of the kingdom’s history, he and Castiel together. Rowena’s eyes shone with reflected firelight, and in them Dean thought he glimpsed some awareness of his own thoughts. He shivered despite the intensity of the heat from the pyre and closed his eyes again.

“In the fire, may he find peace,” Rowena concluded, and the assembled crowd echoed her final words.

Dean felt the barest nudge against his side and opened his eyes to see Sam frowning at him. Dean squared his shoulders, gave Sam what he hoped would pass as a reassuring nod, and stepped forward as Rowena spread her hands wide before her.

“Who will take up the crown of Calorna?” she asked.

“I will,” Dean answered, and was pleased to note his voice was steady despite the nervousness thrumming through his entire body.

“And why should it be upon your head that we place the crown, and into your hands that we place our care?”

He let out a deep breath and held her challenging gaze. He knew the words were a prescribed ritual, and yet he saw in her eyes that she meant them. If she found him wanting--

“I am the eldest son and heir of the late king,” he declared. “The crown is mine by right. But I am also one who loves Calorna deeply, the hills and the valleys and the sun-burned fields. More than that, I love its people, and it is with them foremost in my thoughts that I ask your blessing upon my reign.”

He dropped to one knee, head bowed. He heard the whisper of Rowena’s robe as she moved, and he focused on the sound of his rapid heartbeat, all other noises fading away.

After what felt like an eternity, a solid weight settled on his head. Dean sighed and slowly rose to his feet, inclining his head graciously towards Rowena, careful not to dislodge the heavy gold crown around his brow. “I am honoured by the trust you have placed in me,” he said. 

Rowena nodded once, and something like approval sparked in her eyes. “We have a king once more,” she declared, throwing her arms wide. “People of Calorna, I present to you: King Dean.”

She sank into a low, graceful curtsey as Dean turned to face the crowd. They all made the proper gestures of respect, held them for a moment, then rose again and erupted into cheers and applause. Dean felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he raised a hand to quiet them.

“Thank you for being here to mark this occasion with me today,” he said. “It is a day for both sorrow and for celebration, and I draw comfort and strength from your presence here.” He paused, looking out into the crowd. Kevin was watching him with his usual intensity, but he gave Dean a tiny nod, which he took to mean he was doing well so far. “My father passed from this world too soon,” he continued. “While I have been preparing for this moment for most of my life, I still hoped it would not arrive so soon.” The crowd murmured with interest, speculative glances being exchanged. Sam met Dean’s eyes and shrugged minutely, one corner of his mouth quirking up. 

There was no sense in delaying it. “We lost my father to the war that has plagued us for as long as anyone can remember,” Dean said. “But we did not need to.”

A shocked whisper ran through the crowd, and even Rowena made a tiny movement forward before checking herself, her eyes wide. “This war with Hiemere has drained our land of its people and its energy for too long,” Dean continued. “It has taken from all of us: friends, children, parents, siblings, all manner of loved ones. We have allowed it to consume us as completely as that fire will consume my father’s body, and today I say to you, no more.”

He felt almost dizzy with the exhilaration of speaking the words aloud, knowing the crown on his head gave them more power than he could ever have summoned without it. “It is no easy thing, to change a state of existence that has defined us for so long. And we could not do it alone.” He let out a deep breath, knowing this would be the hardest part. “During the fighting yesterday, Prince Castiel of Hiemere was taken prisoner and brought back to the castle. Under the advice of Chief Strategist Kevin and Prince-General Sam, he and I have come to an agreement that will secure peace between our lands.”

There was a split-second of silence as his words sunk in, and then the crowd exploded into chaotic conversation. Dean waited for it to run its course, eyes flicking from face to face to read the expressions there. Some of the older nobles, those who had already survived their time in the field, were clearly outraged. But the most common expression Dean saw was relief. He saw it in the faces of those with children of an age to fight, in the faces of those who had only just returned from the battle the day before and were stunned to realize they would never be called upon to go forth again. 

“Please.” Dean held up a hand, and was gratified when the crowd subsided. “I know this must come as a shock, but I assure you, I have all of your best interests at heart. I do not enter into this alliance lightly.”

“But what about Hiemere?” someone called out. “How can we trust them?”

Dean opened his mouth, then thought better of it. If they were going to do this, then they might as well do it properly. He found Sam in the crowd and raised his eyebrows meaningfully, watching as comprehension dawned on Sam’s face and he made a quick gesture with his left hand, the sunlight gleaming off the gold-and-topaz ring he wore there.

“A fair question,” Dean replied. “But not, I think, one which I am qualified to answer.”

At the far end of the courtyard, the crowd began to part to make way for a small group that was steadily moving towards the altar. Benny was in the lead, his imposing figure easily clearing the path. Behind him came Charlie, her usually animated face grave, and then--

Dean’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Castiel walking confidently towards him, no sign of nervousness at being so exposed, surrounded by people who only days ago he would have counted as enemies. He was wearing clothes in the Calornan style, his arms bare, but in shades of white and silver that contrasted sharply with the bright colours of the assembled crowd. His dark head was bare, but he carried himself as though he too already wore a crown. Behind him, Victor scowled, one hand on the sword at his hip as he brought up the rear.

Dean inclined his head in a gracious nod as Castiel drew level with him. For this occasion, at least, they had agreed that formality was necessary. “Well met, Prince Castiel,” he said. 

“Well met, King Dean.” Though he did not raise his voice, Castiel’s voice rang like the silver of his clothes in the suddenly silent courtyard, sharp and resonant. He made a short bow to Rowena, then turned to face the crowd. “You asked how you might know that my people will not betray you.”

Whoever had spoken must have lost their courage, as no voice was raised in reply. “As King Dean stated, it is a fair question. Our kingdoms have long been at war, and it is difficult to imagine anything else. But we have done so, your leaders and I. We have dared to imagine it, and now we will dare to make it a reality. But for that, we need all of you.” 

He spoke like one born to rule, and if Dean had had any doubts about their plan, they would have vanished with Castiel’s words.

“We need your trust, and your willingness to put aside hate. Your loyalty, and your dreams of what you could become in a world where you do not live in fear of war. I will ask the same of my people, and together, we will build that world.”

He turned to Dean, then, just as they had planned earlier that morning, sequestered in Kevin’s office to rehearse this most important moment. “And as a symbol of the new relationship between Calorna and Hiemere, King Dean and I have agreed to marry.”

It would have been the perfect moment for Dean to step forward and take his hand. But they could not. So instead, Dean and Castiel turned to face one another and bowed deeply, the most respectful courtesy one could make. When they rose again, Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes and saw the same hesitation, the same apprehension, and the same thrilling excitement that he felt reflected in those blue depths. 

In this, as they soon would be in all other things, they were united.


	5. Chapter 5

It took surprisingly little time to plan the wedding.

Of course, they had good reason to want the alliance made official quickly. Nevertheless, a small part of Castiel wished they might have drawn the process out somewhat. It might have helped make it feel more--

But there was no sense in wanting it to feel more real. It was a marriage of convenience, of political maneuvering, and it would be best for all involved if Castiel remembered that. The sooner he and Dean were married, the sooner he could return home to Hiemere and take up his rightful throne.

At least he was assured that Balthazar had matters under control for the time being. The letter Kevin had drafted had been reviewed and revised per Castiel’s instructions, then sent off with a messenger from the temple, guaranteeing their safety in enemy territory. They had received a reply a few days later, affixed with Balthazar’s personal seal: he was delighted to hear Castiel was safe and would proudly stand as regent until his return. He made no mention of the climate at the Hiemerian court, which made Castiel rather nervous, but perhaps once things were settled, messengers would be able to pass more freely over the mountains and they could establish a more regular correspondence. 

Even a few days ago, he would never have thought to dream of such a thing. To imagine free travel across the mountains without threat of discovery and death. For all that he missed his home and his family and friends there, Castiel knew he and Dean were doing the right thing. 

As was to be expected, however, not everyone agreed with them.

In the immediate aftermath of his appearance at the temple on the day of Dean’s coronation, an emergency council session had been called. He and Dean had sat together at the large table in the council chamber, on the highest level of the castle, and listened to speech after speech that all amounted to the same point: there was no good argument against the alliance, other than that of tradition. Dean had graciously heard them all, then lifted one eyebrow and said, “I have respect for our traditions, of course. But I have more respect for our people, both present and future.”

All impassioned pleas had been reduced to suspicious muttering after that, a number of baleful glances tossed in Castiel’s direction. Once the council members had retired, leaving only Dean, Castiel, Kevin, and Sam in the chamber, Kevin had shaken his head sharply and said, “It isn’t peace they are opposed to. It is peace that puts us on equal standing with Hiemere.” 

Castiel had winced, but recognized the truth in Kevin’s words. Had Calorna won a decisive victory, as when Plenty cast down Void and imprisoned it beneath the mountains, the council members would have been smug and proud and happy to speak of peace when they truly meant subjugation of Hiemere. 

“They will have to learn to live with their disappointment,” Dean had replied, and that had been the end of that.

Now, three days before the ceremony was to take place, Castiel was being fitted for the garments he would wear to his wedding. 

The Mistress of the Wardrobe was a cheerful woman named Donna, who gave him a broad smile as he entered her suite of rooms, immediately putting him at ease. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prince Castiel,” she said, dipping an elegant curtsey. “Oh, such wonderful colouring you have! You will be a delight to dress.”

Castiel gave her a brief bow and his most charming smile. He understood the necessity of new finery to wear for the wedding, but the process of being measured and examined presented one serious problem: if Donna touched him, they would both suffer for it.

“Thank you,” he said to her, then lowered his voice as though confiding a secret. “I do not wish to make your work more difficult, but there is one matter I must discuss with you.”

Donna’s eyes widened with interest. “Yes, of course.”

Castiel sighed and did his best to look unassuming. “You see, we have a custom in Hiemere that once a person has been betrothed, they must not be touched with bare hands until their wedding night.” He choked slightly on the last words, which he hoped only added to his performance. “Please, do you have gloves you might wear while we work? And gloves incorporated into the ceremonial garb as well?”

“Oh.” Donna blinked for a moment, then nodded rapidly. “Oh, yes. What a fascinating custom. We truly know so little about one another, don’t we?”

Castiel smiled, hoping it did not look too much like a grimace. That lack of knowledge was the only reason he was able to successfully convince her that this supposed custom was real. How he and Dean would explain not touching after their marriage, he did not yet know, but this would at least see them through the ceremony, and then--

Well, then it would be too late to change anything.

Donna darted to the other side of the room, rummaged through a chest of drawers, and emerged with a pair of satin gloves and a triumphant smile. “Will this do?” she asked.

“Perfectly,” Castiel replied, inwardly sighing with relief. He could not bear the thought of inadvertently causing her pain. 

She circled around him, eyes narrowed in concentration. “You have a good figure,” she said approvingly. “You and the king are near enough in height to present a pleasing picture together. But for this, I think we require contrast, not similarity.” She frowned, tapping one gloved finger against her chin. “Your people, you do not wear many colours, do you?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “Grey, silver, white, black, and blue, mostly.”

“Yes.” Donna’s eyes travelled over his body in a way that might have felt intimate in any other circumstances but here felt only appraising. “Oh, yes.”

She seated herself at the desk in the corner and began sketching. Castiel waited, curious about her process but not wishing to disturb her, until she let out a satisfied sigh and turned to hold up a rough image for him. 

“Black leather for the trousers,” she explained, tapping the page with her pen. “Tight.” She gave him a wink. “You have excellent thighs, Your Highness, if I may so myself. In a purely professional capacity.”

Startled into laughter, Castiel drew closer. The trousers were tucked into high boots with what looked like buttons all down their sides, and for the upper part of his body, there was a loose shirt with the slightest hint of lines that looked like they would be embroidery around the collar and cuffs. Fortunately, Calornan formal wear covered the entire arm, unlike the more casual outfits that often left them bare to the sun. And, just as he had requested, gloves over the hands, with buttons similar to those on the boots.

“White for the shirt,” Donna explained. “With silver embroidery to match the buttons on the boots. Black leather for the gloves.” She looked down at Castiel’s hand, examining the ring he wore there. “And if I can find such a thing in the royal treasury, a silver and sapphire pendant of some sort, to match this.”

“It’s lovely,” Castiel said softly. And it was. Simple, yet striking, it was an outfit that would remind him of home, would remind him why he was entering into this marriage in the first place. He swallowed roughly and lifted his eyes from the page to meet Donna’s. “Thank you.”

She returned the smile, sympathy in her soft eyes. “It is my pleasure, Your Highness. Now.” She waved him back towards the centre of the room. “Let’s get you properly measured so I may begin my work. A contract for a royal wedding, and with such short notice! What a thrill this is.”

Donna, at least, did not seem at all perturbed by the thought of Dean and Castiel’s marriage. It was reassuring, in its way, knowing that despite the grumblings of a few vocal opponents, there were others who would support them and the peace they strove for. 

Castiel stood patiently while Donna draped bolts of cloth against his frame, tightening them in places and loosening in others, muttering to herself under her breath all the while. The sunlight pouring through the windows was likely a great help to her, but Castiel found himself feeling faint under its rays. He gritted his teeth against the headache that began to throb in his temples and held himself upright and still, though it took more effort than he would have liked to admit.

“How do you plan to dress King Dean?” he asked, hoping the conversation would distract him from his discomfort.

Donna looked up at him and grinned. “Now, don’t you want to be surprised by the sight of your betrothed? I cannot tell you that, Your Highness.”

This entire betrothal was a surprise. Of what sort-- well, that remained yet to be seen. Donna could not be persuaded to divulge any details of what she had planned for Dean’s wedding outfit, but she was more than happy to tell him what to expect during the ceremony. It did not sound so different from what would take place in Hiemere, though the surroundings would be markedly different, and Castiel breathed easier knowing he would be unlikely to make some error that would disgrace either Dean or himself.

He and Dean had not seen a great deal of one another over the past few days, Castiel having been instructed to keep to his chambers as much as possible. “For your own safety,” Kevin had said, not even a hint of an apology in his voice. “Once the marriage is finalized and the alliance with it…”

If nothing else, Castiel looked forward to being able to move freely about the castle once he and Dean were wed. He was not at all accustomed to spending so much time in one chamber, well-appointed though it might be.

Now, he stood at the window, watching as the sun set. At night, he could breathe easier, the smothering heat of the day softening into a warm breeze that filtered through the open window, lifting his hair away from his forehead. A light tap at the door startled him, and he dropped his hand to his hip before remembering, yet again, that he had no weapon there.

“Come in,” he called out. It was likely Charlie or Victor, who had been assigned to watch over him in rotating shifts. He appreciated their visits even if they did serve to remind him of the strange position he occupied here, neither welcome guest nor total prisoner. 

But it was Dean who entered the room and shut the door firmly behind him. Castiel stepped closer, potential causes for concern running through his mind. “What is it? Has something happened?”

Dean blinked at him, then shook his head. “No. Not as far as I know. I just--” He shrugged, then awkwardly cleared his throat. “We’ve barely seen seen each other, these past few days. And tomorrow--”

“Tomorrow is our wedding day,” Castiel finished. “Yes.” He waved Dean to a seat at the table and took the one across from him, folding his hands neatly on the wooden surface. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No, of course not.” Dean’s voice was surprised, but beneath it, Castiel thought he detected a hint of hurt. “Are you?”

If nothing else, they ought to be honest with one another. Castiel shrugged. “Second. Third, fourth, fifth, I’ve lost count.” Dean flinched back as though struck, and Castiel gentled his tone as best as he could. “And I always arrive at the same conclusion: we are doing the right thing.”

Dean’s features slowly relaxed as he let out a deep breath. “Yes, I believe we are.” He offered Castiel a small smile. “Though I still find myself nervous.”

It was as honest an admission as the one Castiel had just made. Something in his chest shifted with the way Dean looked at him as he said it, like he was offering up something of immense value without knowing how it would be received. Castiel longed to reach across the table, to take his hand in silent acknowledgment of the offering. He had never realized until now how much he relied on touch to convey the things he was unable to find the words to say. 

“Would you have been nervous, were it Benny you were marrying and not me?” he asked abruptly. He forgot, at times, that Dean might actually have imagined a rather different situation for himself. For Castiel, at least, any thoughts about his wedding day were vague and hazy, and while they were being brought to life in unexpected ways, they were not writing over anything else.

To his credit, Dean gave the question due consideration. “No,” he said eventually. “But it would not have mattered in quite the same way. It would have been strategic, and expected, and comfortable for the both of us. There would be nothing to be nervous about.”

“Surely you would have preferred that,” Castiel replied. 

Dean shook his head. “No. There would have been nothing to be nervous about, because there would have been very little at stake. I am not mourning the loss of what might have been, Castiel, I swear to you.”

It should have been a comfort, a reassurance, but somehow it only served to increase the guilt that roiled in Castiel’s stomach. “How could you not?” he said, looking down at his hands. The hands that could never touch Dean without causing them both extreme pain. “At least you and Benny would have been able to have a physical relationship.”

At that, Dean’s shoulders drew back, his chin rising. “Do you think that matters so much to me?” A frown crossed his face. “Or is it that it matters so much to you?” He stood, the chair making a loud noise of protest as it slid across the floor. “Are you asking my permission to take a lover once you return to your own land, is that what this is?”

Castiel’s mouth dropped open, and then he was on his feet as well, arms crossed over his chest. “Of course not!” he hissed. “I would not dishonour my vows-- nor you-- by doing such a thing.” He paused, struck by a sudden thought. “Is that what you want?” he demanded. “Did you mean to ask me the same thing?”

Dean dropped his head into his hands and let out a muffled groan. “No,” he said, lifting his head and glaring at Castiel. “You were the one who raised the matter of physical contact.”

They stood staring at one another, both radiating confusion and distrust. Slowly, Castiel’s breathing returned to normal, and with it his clarity of thinking. It was perhaps not the best way to have gone about this discussion, but it was an important one nevertheless. 

Dean, meanwhile, seemed to have reached the same conclusion. He stepped forward, his shoulders dropping into a more relaxed posture, and said, “Have we just had our first quarrel?”

Startled into laughter, Castiel moved closer as well. “Yes,” he said. “I believe we have.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Dean continued. “We know next to nothing about one another, Castiel, and we have been polite strangers to this point. If we are to make this work-- both the marriage and the alliance-- it would be best to show our true selves, would it not?”

“Indeed.” Castiel sank back into his seat, propping his chin on his hands. “In the interest of honesty, then, Dean, let me say this: I will not take a lover, no matter the state of our marriage. And I would expect the same of you.”

Dean dropped a gracious bow. “Yes,” was all he said. “And now that the matter has been settled and we have efficiently fought and resolved our first argument, I will ask you what I came here to ask you tonight: is there anything I can do for you, Castiel, to make this easier for you?”

He looked so earnest, standing tall and proud in his simple garb, an expression of pure concern on his face. Castiel almost wished there was some simple request he could make, just to satisfy him. “No,” he said slowly. “Your visit has been comfort enough.”

At that, Dean smiled. “Very well, then.” He made another bow, then turned for the door, pausing with one hand on its surface. “Until tomorrow, Castiel.”

“Until tomorrow, Dean.” Castiel answered him with a bow of his own, and with one last look over his shoulder, Dean was gone.

The room seemed colder without his presence, and for once, Castiel did not welcome the chill. He blew out the candles and swiftly changed into the light linen nightshirt that had been provided for his use and climbed into bed, but it was a long time before sleep claimed him.

The marriage ceremony took place at noon, when the sun was highest in the sky.

Castiel entered the temple unescorted, leaving Charlie and Victor to join the crowd of assembled spectators. Dean was waiting for him in front of the altar, the sunlight pouring into the courtyard and glinting off the burnished strands of his hair. He was dressed in a rich scarlet shirt that clung tightly to the breadth of his chest and shoulders and highlighted the strong muscles of his arms. It was tucked neatly into loose buff trousers that disappeared into brown leather boots to match the gloves on his hands, both stitched with gold. 

He looked beautiful. There was no other word for it. And when he caught sight of Castiel, something in his eyes lightened, the tightness with which he held himself easing slightly as though he had almost expected that Castiel would not arrive. He held out one gloved hand as Castiel approached, and when Castiel took it, Dean squeezed it gently, grounding him. 

Rowena cleared her throat, once again dressed in her ceremonial gold robes, and raised her arms above her head. “We gather here today to mark a momentous occasion,” she said, voice rich and clear. “For not only is this a union of two persons, but of two kingdoms.”

Dean’s grip on Castiel’s hand tightened for a moment, then relaxed again. Castiel gave him a concerned look, and Dean shook his head briefly. A momentary flash of nervousness, most likely. Castiel could not blame him. If anything was going to happen, anything that would disrupt their plans, it would surely be soon.

“It is in the union of opposites, or seeming opposites, that we find our greatest strength,” Rowena continued. She looked at Castiel, an unidentifiable gleam in her eyes. Or perhaps it was just the sunlight reflecting there. “Once, long ago, before these mountains divided us, there was only Being. And then Being began to change, to struggle against itself, and so Plenty and Void were separated, equal and yet in opposition to one another.”

Castiel frowned. When Donna had given him an explanation of Calornan marriage ceremonies, she had described the usual speeches made by the priest or priestess, and this was not among the themes she had listed. Glancing up at Dean, he saw the same confusion-- apprehension, even-- on his face. 

“They fought for what we would consider centuries, though for them it was the blink of an eye. Finally, Plenty cast down Void, deep below the ground. The earth that was disrupted rose up to form the mountains that have separated Calorna and Hiemere ever since.” She paused, looking between Dean and Castiel, and a decidedly triumphant smile curled up the corners of her lips. “Until today.”

She reached back onto the altar and retrieved a circlet of red and yellow roses, which she held out to Castiel. “Place these upon the brow of your betrothed, and with them, vow to tend to your love as one tends to a garden: with patience, with devotion, and always with the hope of renewal in times of difficulty.”

In Hiemere, they used snowdrops rather than roses, but the words were similar. Here, at least, Castiel felt on familiar ground. He took the circlet and placed it gently on Dean’s bowed head. “I do so vow,” he said, ensuring his voice would be heard even by those far at the back of the crowd. 

Dean raised his head, the roses only adding to the striking picture he presented, and winked at Castiel. He felt a flush rise in his cheeks and was glad his part in the ceremony had ended, as he might have had difficulty accomplishing it with any grace after that wink. 

Rowena held out a similar circlet, but in white and pink roses, and repeated the same speech. Castiel lowered his head and felt the soft petals brush against his forehead as Dean placed the circlet on his head and said, “I do so vow.”

It was done. They were married. 

Castiel raised his head and let all his relief show in the smile that broke out across his face. Dean swallowed visibly, his eyes locked on Castiel’s mouth, and then returned the smile with one of his own.

“May your union be long and happy,” Rowena said. Then she lowered her voice so only Dean and Castiel could hear her. “Now, give the people a nice wave.”

Castiel looked down at the gloves on his hands. They had already demonstrated it was safe to indulge in touch. So he gently nudged his hand against Dean’s, and after only one startled glance, Dean took it in his own and raised them together. 

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Sam’s tall figure was easily visible in one of the first rows, a broad smile on his face. Beside him, Kevin’s eyes darted about the room as though cataloguing the reactions of the assembled guests, not halting his observations even on this momentous occasion. Never could Castiel have imagined that those would be the most familiar faces among the guests at his wedding. A slight pang of longing pierced his chest, imagining the way Balthazar would wink or Jack would clap with unbridled enthusiasm. It would have been a comfort, having them here, but if they all played their parts, he would see them again soon.

“Now what?” Castiel asked under his breath, turning his head slightly so Dean could hear him. 

Dean squeezed his hand, lightly, then gave him a smile of such pure happiness that Castiel’s knees almost gave out beneath him. “Now,” Dean said, “we celebrate.”

The wedding feast lasted for hours. Castiel and Dean listened to speech after speech from various well-wishers, some more obviously heartfelt than others. They watched dancers perform, heard musicians play their most celebratory pieces, and even witnessed a shadowplay of the final battle between Plenty and Void performed by a group of young temple attendants. It was extravagant and impressive and, at least for Castiel, utterly exhausting.

As the applause that followed the shadowplay died down, Dean turned to Castiel with a smile that quickly faded as his eyes passed over Castiel’s face. “Are you not enjoying yourself?” he asked hesitantly.

“I am,” Castiel assured him. “It’s simply--” He shrugged, unsure how to explain himself.

He did not need to, though. Dean gave him a sympathetic nod and said, “It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” His tone was soft, commiserating rather than condescending, and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief as he nodded. 

Dean watched him for a moment longer, then nodded briefly. “Well. I suppose our guests would likely think it charming if we made a somewhat abrupt escape to, ah, be alone.”

Heat spread through Castiel’s body at his words, though he knew he and Dean would not be passing the night as many other newly wedded couples might. Even the thought of it-- no, he could not allow his mind to wander there. “I would appreciate some quiet,” he said. “And besides.” He reached out and adjusted the circlet on Dean’s brow, which had fallen sideways, giving him an endearingly rakish look. “We ought to hang these to dry before you lose yours entirely.”

“Taking care of me already?” Dean favoured him with a brilliant grin. “What an excellent husband I’ve landed for myself.”

Though Castiel knew he was teasing, he could not deny the pride he took in those words. Whatever the reasons for their marriage, the complications it brought along with it, he had made a vow to Dean today, and he would honour it. He did not make such promises lightly, and he did not think Dean did either. 

He was proven right as Dean rose to his feet and held up a hand, quieting the assembled guests. “My friends, thank you for joining us as we celebrate this new relationship between Calorna and Hiemere. There will be time in the days ahead to discuss what this means, and how it will affect each and every one of us, and both Prince Castiel and myself look forward to those discussions. But for now--” He paused and grinned out at the crowd. Castiel watched the way the people smiled at him, the fondness on their faces. It was clear how much they loved their new king. “But for now, it is time for my husband and I to retire.”

He turned to Castiel and held out his hand, still gloved. Castiel shook his head in mock censure, but took his hand gladly, and good-natured teasing and shouts of encouragement followed them as they left the hall.

Dean led them towards a wing of the castle Castiel had not yet visited. “They offered me the monarch’s chambers,” he said over his shoulder. “But I did not want them.” His face tightened, the smile slipping from his lips. “Too many memories.”

Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder. “I understand, of course.”

With a shaky sigh, Dean continued along the corridor. Two unfamiliar guards watched over a doorway surrounded by gorgeous tilework, and they both bowed low at Dean and Castiel’s approach. Dean nodded at them, then pushed open the door and ushered Castiel inside.

The rooms were large and airy, illuminated by lamps hanging from the ceiling. In the daytime, the large windows would let in the bright Calornan sun, and sheer curtains fluttered gently in the nighttime breeze. Castiel took a slow look around, his eyes skipping past the large bed in an alcove to his right as he licked suddenly dry lips. 

“I hope this is to your liking,” Dean said quietly. His arms were clasped behind his back, and he looked out the window rather than meeting Castiel’s eyes. “If there’s anything you want to change, anything that would make you more comfortable, you only have to ask.”

Castiel began to shake his head, but then his attention was caught by something glinting on the desk to his left. He crossed the room towards it, then took a step back. The last time he had seen that small jewelled dagger, it had been held to his brother’s throat.

Dean hurried across the room and looked between Castiel and the dagger, confusion etched on his features. “What is it?”

“That--” Castiel shook his head. Was this some kind of cruel prank? Had this been the plan all along? To secure peace with Hiemere through their marriage and then humiliate him in private? He could barely believe Dean capable of such a thing, but why else would that particular dagger be here now?

Dean reached out and picked it up. He touched it reverently, something distant in his eyes. “It was my mother’s,” he said softly. “My father carried it ever since her death, and he left it to me after…”

Of course. Castiel knew how Queen Mary had died, taken by a chill brought on by a cruel wind that blew down from the mountains during one particularly cold season in Hiemere. He stared at the dagger, its blade now clean, and remembered the way it had looked pressed against Michael’s throat. How strange he had thought it in that moment, that King John would have chosen such a weapon for the killing blow. 

“He loved her very much,” Dean continued. “But he used his grief to propel him in battle, and he carried this with him every time, a reminder of his quest for vengeance.”

Dean had not been present at that final battle. He had not witnessed Michael’s death. Castiel had no wish to taint the memories that dagger held for him, but they had asked each other for honesty. 

“He killed my brother with it,” he said, voice tight. “I wondered why, at the time.”

Slowly, Dean placed the dagger back on the desk and raised his eyes to meet Castiel’s. There was an apology there, and sympathy, and something else Castiel could not identify. 

After a long pause, Dean said, “We ought to hate one another.” He shook his head tightly, a distant look in his eyes. “When I was younger, I would have hated you. I would never have agreed to this alliance. I would have thought it an insult to my mother’s memory.”

“Yes.” Castiel let out a deep breath. “And yet--” He reached up and gently touched the circlet around his brow, then reached across to adjust Dean’s again.

“And yet,” Dean echoed. In one fluid movement, he snatched the dagger from the desk and crossed the room, opening the door to speak to the guard outside. “Have this brought to the treasury,” he ordered. “Thank you.”

Throat tight, Castiel gave him a shaky nod. That Dean would voluntarily remove a reminder of his mother from his presence in order to make him more comfortable-- it meant more than he could say.

“You take the bed,” Dean said abruptly. “I will sleep on the chaise.”

Thrown by the sudden change in subject, Castiel frowned at him. “Surely the bed is large enough--”

Dean winced and shook his head. “I assure you, it is far too warm here even at night to sleep fully clothed.”

Once again, distracting images flashed through Castiel’s mind before he was able to banish them and focus on Dean’s words. “Oh,” he said. “Yes, of course.” They could not risk the brush of bare skin on bare skin in their unconscious states. Somehow, he had not thought of that.

With another nod, Dean removed a pillow from the bed and arranged it on the chaise. It looked too short to be comfortable for someone of his height, and Castiel opened his mouth to offer to sleep there instead, but Dean looked up and met his eyes with a firm shake of his head. “No,” he said before Castiel could even start. “We may discuss future arrangements tomorrow, but tonight, you are taking the bed.”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow. “So. You are to be a commanding husband, are you?”

Dean’s eyes flared wide, shocked, but then he laughed and threw the pillow back across the room, catching Castiel across the chest. Castiel grinned at him and brought the pillow back, settling it onto the chaise. “And I will not be accused of being an ungenerous one,” he said. “Keep your pillow.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean waved him away. “Get some sleep, Castiel. We did it.” He reached up and removed his circlet, gently placing it on the table. “We will have peace between our lands.”

Yes. They had that. And after all, was that not the entire point of Castiel’s continued presence here? He nodded, blowing out the candles around the room as he made his way back to the bed. Once it was dark, he heard the rustle of fabric as Dean undressed himself. Castiel fought back a surge of desire and did the same, neatly folding his fine garments over the chair by the bed before sliding into it. The sheets were fine silk, cool against his heated skin, and the mattress soft and inviting below him. 

In the faint light of the moon, he could just make out the curve of Dean’s shoulder on the chaise across the room. “Goodnight, Dean,” he said quietly. 

“Goodnight, Castiel,” Dean replied.

No, this was not at all how Castiel had imagined his wedding night. But it was not about him, and it was not even really about Dean, either. That much had been made very clear to them. He rolled over in the wide bed and shut his eyes, calling to mind an image of Hiemere, snow-covered peaks and crisp pine-scented winds. Only a few months of this, and then he would be home.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean passed a restless night on the chaise, waking multiple times and needing a few moments to gather himself, to remember why he was here, cramped and uncomfortable, instead of in his wide, warm bed. 

Because it was currently occupied. By his husband. Who he could not touch, even in accidental passing in their sleep.

It was a wonder he got any sleep at all. But when the sun’s rays began to peek through the large windows of his chambers, he rolled off the chaise with a groan he did his best to stifle. He cast a wary glance towards the bed, but Castiel did not stir. Thankful for a few moments to himself, Dean quickly dressed himself in loose trousers and boots, then left the room. 

He ignored the curious glances from the attendants he passed along the way to the barracks. Let them whisper. Let them wonder why their new king was awake early, striding through the halls of the castle rather than still in bed with his new husband. They would never arrive at the truth, no matter how much they speculated.

Entering the barracks, he was immediately greeted by Victor’s raised eyebrows and Benny’s soft smile. “Didn’t expect to see you this morning,” Victor commented, tone carefully neutral.

Dean sighed and tightened the laces on his boots. “We may no longer be at war with Hiemere, but I have no plans of allowing myself to go soft. I will be here training as usual, and I expect the same of you, at least until such time as you request formal leave from the Guard.”

Victor laughed and clapped Dean on the back. “Unlikely.”

Benny shook his head slowly. “You’ll not be rid of us that easily.”

“Very well, then.” Dean stretched his arms over his head, sighing with relief as his muscles loosened after his uncomfortable night on the chaise. “Let us proceed.”

As the morning went on, they were gradually joined by more and more members of the Guard and the regular army, most of whom seemed surprised to see Dean among them but were too polite to comment on his presence. He focused on his exercises, on the way the hard-packed dirt shifted under his feet as he grappled with Victor, fighting to throw each other off balance. With one quick twist, he escaped from Victor’s grip and danced away, grinning at him. “You must have had too much to drink at the feast last night,” he teased. “You’re slower than usual this morning.”

Victor just laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “Whereas you are full of energy and enthusiasm,” he said. “Marriage agrees with you.”

Dean smiled tightly at that, unsure whether Victor was baiting him or genuinely pleased on his behalf. Fortunately, he was spared the necessity of a reply by Sam’s arrival, all the soldiers and guards immediately snapping to attention and offering crisp salutes in his direction.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, crossing the ground towards Dean. He was frowning, the lines around his mouth and eyes accentuated by the way his hair was tightly pulled off his face and gathered at the top of his head. 

Dean cast a wary look at their audience and reached out to take hold of Sam’s elbow, drawing him close. “Might we not discuss this so publicly?”

“You’re already making it a topic of public discussion merely by being here,” Sam pointed out.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Dean nodded. “Very well. What would you suggest I do, give up all my usual routines simply because I am now married? Or simply because I am now king?”

Sam did not display the same restraint. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “No, of course not. I’ve always admired the way you do not put on airs, Dean, and it’s good that you are continuing to be visible and available to the people. But have you not considered the way those same people will talk, seeing you apart from Castiel so soon? If they do not have faith in your marriage, they will not have faith in the alliance.”

Dean had been prepared for a lecture on treating his new husband with more courtesy. He had not been prepared to be scolded for threatening the treaty that had landed him that husband in the first place. He scowled at Sam and said, “Of course. Nothing can jeopardize your grand plan. Not even my need to cling to some semblance of normalcy in the face of the enormous changes I’ve had to accustom myself to over the past few days.”

To his credit, Sam flinched at the accusation in Dean’s tone and held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, I should have considered how difficult this could be for you. But you and Castiel have been getting along so well, and…” He trailed off, his eyes widening. “Did-- did something happen last night?”

“What?” Dean shook his head fiercely. “No. Nothing like that.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the dampness of it. He could tell Sam the truth, explain how he and Castiel had spent the night, but it would feel like a betrayal, somehow. Unconventional as their marriage might be, Dean’s first loyalty needed to be to Castiel now. “I’m just learning how to be a king and how to be a husband while also learning what it means to no longer be at war. It stands to reason I may struggle at times.”

Sam let out a deep breath and nodded. “I know.” He swept a hand around to indicate the barracks and the training ground they stood upon. “I don’t know what to do if I am not here. It seems we both have a great deal of learning to do.”

It was an apology and a peace offering all in one, and Dean took it. “I think you’ll find many people in a similar position,” he said. “So you’ll do what you always do, Sam. You’ll lead them. Except this time, it will not be into battle.”

One corner of Sam’s mouth lifted in a small smile. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Now, if you’ll allow me to offer some advice”-- he paused, his smile growing-- “you ought to go greet your husband. If this is a difficult adjustment for us to make, consider how it must be for him.”

Dean winced. He had not intended to stay this late, truly, thinking he would sneak back into his chambers-- their chambers, now-- before Castiel woke. But the sun was higher in the sky than he had realized, and Castiel was surely awake by now, wondering where Dean had gone. 

“Make sure to beat Victor on my behalf,” he said, reaching out to grip Sam’s shoulder. “I will see you at the council meeting this afternoon.”

With a brief nod, Sam waved him away. Dean lifted his hand in acknowledgment of the farewells from the other guards and soldiers, then hurried back through the castle towards his rooms.

He knocked lightly before entering, not wanting to startle Castiel. Though his voice was muffled by the door, he clearly heard Castiel call out, “Come in.” Dean took a deep breath and pushed open the door, already mentally composing an apology.

Castiel was seated on the edge of the bed, neatly dressed in a light linen shirt and trousers, hands clasped before him. He looked like a statue, elegant and unmoving. But when he saw Dean enter, his eyes widened, hands dropping to clutch at the mattress beneath him. “Oh,” he said, clearly surprised. “I thought it would be--”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said in a rush. He crossed the room and stood in front of Castiel, whose eyes had dropped quickly to his bare chest before returning to his face. “I should not have left you alone this morning, but I did not want to disturb your slumber, and then I lost track of time while training…”

He trailed off as a small smile began to spread across Castiel’s face. “Did you imagine me pining away in your absence?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. “Forlorn without you after not even one full day of marriage?”

Dean frowned, opened his mouth to reply, and then laughed. Castiel, it seemed, had an endless capacity for surprising him. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “And that was presumptuous of me.” He dropped to the bed beside Castiel, turning slightly to face him. “And what did you do this morning, my lord, if not wail and gnash your teeth in distress at my absence?”

“I performed some light exercises, meditated, and had a wondrous bath,” Castiel replied. “I was about to leave the room in search of breakfast when you entered. Truthfully, I thought perhaps you were an attendant bringing me a meal.”

“Alas.” Dean clutched at his chest in exaggerated dismay. “My apologies for disappointing you.”

“I never said I was disappointed,” Castiel replied softly. His eyes dropped once more to Dean’s bare chest, and were slower to raise this time. 

Dean swallowed roughly, suddenly aware of the silence of the room and how close they were sitting. The heat in Castiel’s gaze was palpable, and Dean’s hand clenched on the silk coverings on the bed, fighting back the urge to reach out, to trace the gorgeous line of Castiel’s cheekbone--

But he could not. 

He let out a shaky breath and got to his feet. “I ought to bathe,” he said abruptly. “And then perhaps we can go in search of that breakfast you were denied.”

The wry quirk of Castiel’s smile indicated that he knew exactly what Dean had been thinking. He inclined his head to the side and said nothing as Dean fled to the bathing room off to the side of their chambers.

Once out of sight, Dean tipped his head back and groaned. What crimes had he and Castiel committed to be punished this way? They liked one another well enough, despite the circumstances of their marriage, and the attraction between them was undeniable. They might have acted on that attraction to their mutual enjoyment, if not for whatever curse prevented them from being unable to touch. 

Truly, it was so absurd as to be almost comical. And yet Dean was not laughing. Grumbling to himself, he stepped into the bath, the cool water a relief on his heated flesh.

Reassured though he was by Castiel’s teasing comments about pining for him in his absence, Dean still felt somewhat guilty for abandoning him on their first morning as a wedded couple. So rather than joining the other members of the court at the morning meal in the hall, he had their breakfast sent to their chambers.

One of the castle attendants arrived with trays of food and drink just as Dean finished dressing himself for the day. “Thank you, Alex,” he said as she arranged the plates and bowls on the table. “This looks wonderful.”

“Yes, thank you.” Castiel rose from his place on the bed, where he had apparently remained the entire time Dean was bathing and dressing, and joined them at the table. “Alex, is it?”

She looked rather startled to be addressed so directly, but managed a proper curtsey and a small nod. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“That will be all.” Dean gave her a soft smile, which she returned shakily before fleeing the room.

“I do believe you’ve intimidated her,” he said, turning back to face Castiel.

“Me?” Castiel arched one eyebrow, looking perfectly innocent, his hair tidily swept back from his face and one hand poised to pour himself a glass of juice. “I did nothing but ask her name.”

“And she will tell the tale for weeks, I’m sure.” Dean took his seat and reached for the bowl of berries in the centre of the table. “How she was the one to bring breakfast to the new kings of Calorna and Hiemere.”

“I am not king yet.” Though there was no rebuke in Castiel’s tone, there was something else, something it took Dean a moment to identify. A certain wistfulness, longing mixed with regret. Dean wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and grip Castiel’s hand in sympathy, but they had left their gloves off to make it easier to eat. Such a gesture would not have the effect he intended it to.

“Soon,” he said instead. 

The corner of Castiel’s mouth lifted. “Soon,” he echoed softly. He reached out and selected an orange from the basket, his long fingers delicately peeling the skin from the flesh. Dean had never thought of peeling an orange as a sensuous act, but watching Castiel do so, desire hit him like a bolt of lightning, thrilling and terrifying all at once. He swallowed roughly, the sharp sweet scent of the orange filling the air, and fought to regain control of himself and the situation.

“But until then,” he said, “we have my people to occupy ourselves with.”

Castiel nodded, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having on Dean. “There is a council meeting this afternoon, yes?”

“Yes.” Dean nodded and re-applied himself to the task of eating. Anything to have an excuse to drop his gaze from Castiel’s clever hands. “There is little anyone can do at this point to stop the treaty, but I am certain they will have many opinions to share on it regardless.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Castiel popped a section of orange into his mouth and chewed it slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. “How do you think they would respond to the suggestion that we invite a delegation from my kingdom to join us here?”

Dean blinked at him, took a sip of juice, then blinked again. “With as much surprise as I am currently feeling,” he said. 

Castiel laughed, leaning forward across the table. “Think about it. I am alone here, and while I understand the practicalities of my remaining here for some time before returning home, I will continue to be gawked at and whispered about just as I was by our young attendant. Your people still see me as a Hiemerian first, and the next association they make is that I am the enemy. I cannot fault them for that, but if we want to change those associations, it will take more than just becoming accustomed to seeing me at your side.”

Dean folded his hands on the table and raised one eyebrow at Castiel. “Is this what you’ve been thinking of all morning?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, his expression slightly smug. “I told you I was not pining.”

Of course he wasn’t. Castiel was raised to lead, just as Dean was. It was easy to think of him as needing coddling, adrift as he might occasionally feel in this strange land, but he was intelligent and capable and just as invested in seeing this alliance blossom as Dean was. Perhaps even more so-- the faster it stabilized, the faster he could return to his own kingdom.

Dean fought back the unexpected pain that rose in his chest at that thought and nodded slowly. “It is an excellent idea,” he said. “With free travel across the mountains, there is so much we can accomplish. Trade, for example.” He nodded at the neat pile of orange peel in front of Castiel. “I am guessing you don’t have a great deal of fresh fruit available in Hiemere.”

“We do not.” Castiel shrugged and reached for another orange. “And on a more personal note, I believe it would reassure my people if they could see for themselves that I am well and not being mistreated in any way. I would not ask Balthazar to leave, but perhaps another of my numerous cousins.”

“Make the suggestion to the council. They may have reservations about it, but they cannot prevent us from issuing the invitation.” Dean grinned at him and was pleased to see an answering smile spread across Castiel’s face. “It is, in some ways, good to be king.”

After they finished eating, Dean took Castiel on a quick tour of the training grounds, explaining how he had passed the early hours of the day. Only a few others were there at this time, as the sun rose higher in the sky and made strenuous activity rather uncomfortable. They attracted a few curious glances, but no open hostility, for which Dean was grateful. Castiel listened intently to his explanations and asked thoughtful questions about the role the barracks would play in the future, questions to which Dean did not yet have answers but was glad to consider. 

Checking the position of the sun in the sky, Dean ushered Castiel back inside. “We ought to make our way to the council chamber,” he explained. “It would be rude to be late.”

Castiel smiled at that, though it looked somewhat strained. Perhaps, despite his seeming ease, he was nervous about appearing in front of so many of Dean’s people, a stranger among them. Dean gave him an encouraging smile and led the way towards the council chamber, determined to make this experience as painless as possible. 

The council chamber was one of Dean’s favourite rooms in the castle. Occupying a central position between the wings, it was large and circular, with glass panels forming a dome above it. The table around which the council sat was made of polished marble, gleaming in the sunlight, and its octagonal shape allowed for a sense of equality among those seated at it. 

Dean guided Castiel to two chairs at the far side of the table, no more ornate than any of the others. “We change seats frequently,” he explained. “Since the council rotates members on a monthly basis, the only ones who are here every time are the royal family, Kevin, and the high priest or priestess.”

“Very fair.” Castiel gave an approving nod and lowered himself into the chair Dean pulled out for him. “Who are we to expect at this particular meeting? Anyone to be wary of?”

Before Dean could answer, Sam and Kevin entered the room, deep in conversation. “Those two, perhaps,” Dean said, and was rewarded with a brief flash of a smile. “Kevin, Sam. Thank you for joining us.”

“You say that as though I have ever missed a council meeting since the day you plucked me away from the Academy.” Kevin rolled his eyes and pulled out a chair opposite them, Sam sitting beside him. “I am surprised to see you here before us, though.”

Castiel gave Dean a sly look before turning to Kevin with a raised eyebrow. “Is Dean not usually punctual? Perhaps I am a good influence on him.”

A grin spread slowly across Sam’s face as Dean feigned offense at Castiel’s statement. “You may wish to present a more united front when the others arrive,” Sam advised, though his lips still twitched with amusement. 

“Yes, yes.” Dean waved a dismissive hand in the air, then glanced down at where Castiel’s rested on the table. They had put on their gloves before leaving their chambers, just as a precaution. But they had also agreed to avoid touching each other as much as possible, even with the gloves, in case they became accustomed to doing so and touched with ungloved hands through force of habit. 

As though sensing the path of his thoughts, Castiel folded his hands neatly on his lap, out of sight beneath the table, and gave Dean a small shrug. He opened his mouth to speak, but then the sound of footsteps approaching down the hall drew their attention back to the open door.

Dean watched as some regular council members filed in: Rowena, Missouri, Cesar, Martin, Donna, and Charlie all taking their places around the table. They were joined by a few others Dean had not seen in some time: Tamara, Ash, and Layla. A good combination of ages and personalities, he noted with approval.

Once they had all settled in, Dean rose to his feet and motioned to Castiel to do the same. “Welcome,” he said, raising his voice so that it echoed around the room. “Thank you all for joining us on this first day of a new chapter in the history of Calorna.” He darted a quick glance at Castiel and corrected himself. “And in the history of Hiemere.”

Looking around the room, he saw a proud grin on Charlie’s face, amusement in Cesar’s eyes, and a twinkle of mischief in Donna’s. But he also saw blankness on Tamara’s face and a sneer on Martin’s. Swallowing roughly, Dean continued. “As some of you may have heard, I spent my morning as usual, training with the soldiers and the guards. It can be hard to disrupt patterns we have set for ourselves over the course of many years, and it will take time for us all to adjust to our new reality. But as leaders of our community, it is you we will need to guide the people through this time of uncertainty.”

Martin stood, every line of his body radiating barely-contained mistrust. “Why did you feel the need to train still, if we are at peace?” he asked, not bothering to conceal the accusation in his voice. “Do you not trust your new husband, and fear he might move against us?”

Dean started to reply, but Castiel was faster. “Perhaps I simply wish my husband to remain in peak physical condition,” he said mildly. 

Charlie and Layla both let out giggles, Martin turning to glare at them before returning his attention to Castiel. “This is no laughing matter,” he hissed.

“I am not laughing,” Castiel replied. He stood straight and tall, though he gripped the back of his chair tightly. “As King Dean just said, it is difficult to adjust to a new pattern of life. Those who are accustomed to physical regimens will find it hard to abandon them easily, just as those accustomed to planning stealth attacks will find it hard to stop themselves from imagining new plans.” He looked at Sam as he spoke, and Sam acknowledged his words with a dip of his head but did not interject. “Perhaps those among us who represent the guards might have some ideas for how to shift their focus away from combative arts into something less martial but still challenging.”

Charlie immediately leaned forward. “We ought to reintroduce the tournaments,” she suggested eagerly.

Castiel turned to Dean with a furrowed brow. “Tournaments?”

“An excellent idea,” Dean said. “The tournaments are competitions of athleticism and skill,” he explained for Castiel’s benefit. “They were once a beloved institution, but they fell out of favour when it was decided we ought to focus on actual battle tactics and not performances, so to speak.” He did not have to mention whose decision that was. He could see in Castiel’s eyes that he understood it was a command from Dean’s late father. 

“I should like to see one,” Castiel replied. He sat down, propping his chin in one gloved hand, eyes alight with interest. 

Kevin scribbled something on the parchment in front of him and looked up at Dean across the table. “It would have excellent symbolic value,” he said. “A marker of the new era.”

“An era of celebration?” Tamara asked, voice tight. “Do we so easily forget those we have lost over the years, and go back to playing at war as though they did not give their lives for us all?”

Dean winced. Tamara’s husband Isaac had died a few months prior, and she had become withdrawn and brittle ever since then. “We never forget,” Dean said as gently as he could. “We have all lost loved ones, Tamara. But if we wish to honour their sacrifices, moving forward in friendship and stability is the best way to do so.”

Tamara’s mouth tightened, but she made no further protest. Dean made a note to speak with her privately later, but for now, he was pleased to see both Missouri and Donna lean in to whisper to her, the tension in her body slowly easing as they did. 

Castiel cleared his throat and rose to his feet once more. He stumbled slightly as he did, and Dean almost reached out to steady him, but Castiel shot him a warning glance and Dean pulled his hand back quickly.

“This leads well into a matter I wished to raise,” he said. All the faces in the room turned in his direction, polite interest on some and wariness on others. “As you all know, the marriage between King Dean and myself is representative of the new bond between our kingdoms. But I am not my entire kingdom. In order to truly cement that bond, I believe it would be beneficial to encourage more interaction between our people, in order to see one another not as enemies but as friends and partners in a new venture of peace.” He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “To that end, I propose that we invite a delegation from Hiemere to visit us here. Perhaps timed to coincide with the tournament.”

“Absolutely not!” Martin exclaimed immediately. “They will overrun us. This is all an attempt at invasion!”

“Peace, Martin,” Sam said sharply. “You are welcome to express your opinions, but you will not incite panic or cast unfounded aspersions on any council member. Including the newest among us.”

Dean gave his brother a grateful look as Martin subsided, still muttering angrily to himself. “I think it is a fine idea,” Sam continued in the voice he once used to inspire confidence in his troops before leading them into battle. “Prince Castiel is correct: how can we form an alliance with people do not know? An invitation to a small delegation shows our good faith, and will allow us to introduce the idea of travel across the mountains.”

“I approve,” Rowena said with a sharp nod. “I would very much like to meet my counterpart from Hiemere.”

At that, Castiel smiled slightly. “I do believe you and Billie would make formidable allies,” he said. “And she would be glad to meet you as well.”

Dean looked around the table, tensing for more outbursts like Martin’s. But he saw mostly cautious interest on the faces of the council members, even if Tamara’s also carried a hint of resignation. 

Then, to his surprise, Layla spoke in her soft voice. A healer and a scholar, she was a valued member of the community, but rarely involved herself deeply in council matters. “Invite them,” she said. “There is much we could learn from one another.”

“We are decided, then?” Dean waited for nods from all those assembled, then smiled. “Excellent. We will discuss the details at a later date, once our Chief Strategist has drafted an invitation and a schedule for the proposed visit.” He cast a look at Kevin, who was already furiously writing on his parchment. “If there is no other business to be discussed, I suggest we disband early.”

With a chorus of farewells, some more genuinely warm than others, the council members slowly trickled from the chamber until only Sam, Kevin, Dean, and Castiel remained. Dean let out a deep breath and collapsed back into his seat. “That went far better than I had imagined.”

“Don’t get overconfident,” Kevin said briefly. “There’s still plenty of time for things to go wrong.”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks of long suffering over Kevin’s pessimism. “Well, if they do, you will surely have a plan to handle them,” Sam said, clapping a hand on Kevin’s back and guiding him from the room. “Will you join us for dinner this evening, Dean? Castiel?”

“Yes, of course.” Dean waved them farewell, turning to look at Castiel when he did not reply. He was looking a touch pale, but his eyes were bright as he looked up at Dean. “You did very well,” Dean said, feeling rather foolish for the awkward way he expressed his admiration. “Not that I doubted you would. Just--”

“Dean.” Castiel shook his head. “I understand you perfectly. And thank you. I am rather relieved that it is over.”

“Then let’s pass the rest of the afternoon in a more pleasant manner,” Dean suggested. “Have you seen our portrait gallery yet? I believe you might enjoy it.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Castiel rose to his feet and followed Dean towards the door. “I’m sure you will have many interesting stories to tell, which I will counter with the versions we tell in Hiemere.”

Laughing, Dean turned back to look at Cas over his shoulder, his amusement fading when he noted the way Castiel had stopped a few steps behind him. “Castiel?”

Castiel looked up, face drawn tight in confusion, one hand pressed to his side. He opened his mouth to speak, and then collapsed to the ground.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel dreamed of fire.

The shining spires of his palace melting in the inferno, inhabitants fleeing the flickering flames that chased them through corridors crumbling beneath their feet. The great frozen waterfall, frozen no longer, sending a flood rushing through the valley, sweeping away the greenhouses and the frozen ponds, the rock gardens and the ice sculptures within them.

All the beauty of his land, lost.

And then the images shifted, familiar faces flashing before him. His parents, long-dead, their skin tinged silver with cold and snowflakes clinging to lashes that opened slowly to reveal blank white eyes. Accusatory fingers pointed in his direction, and Michael’s voice settling over him like a shroud. “You have betrayed us, Castiel. This alliance will destroy us all.”

He woke with a gasp, eyes flying open. He struggled against the fine linen sheets covering his body, the panicked thrashing of a threatened creature, until a firm hand landed on his shoulder and held him steady.

“Easy.” He knew that voice, rough with worry as it was. 

Dean. His husband.

The tension abruptly leaving his body, Castiel sank back against the pillows, blinking up into Dean’s face, which was tight with concern. “What happened?”

Dean swallowed visibly, then let out a deep sigh. “You fainted,” he said quietly. “I managed to carry you back here, and you have been unconscious since.”

A shiver ran through Castiel’s body, though he was far from cold. “How long?”

“Three days.” Dean bit his lip. “I was so frightened, Castiel. I--” He broke off, running a hand through his hair. It had the dishevelled look of someone who hadn’t slept or bathed properly in days. “I’m very glad to see you awake again. How do you feel?”

Castiel took a moment to consider the question. His head still ached, a constant throbbing behind his temples, and he could feel the sweat gathering on his brow. Raising one arm, he watched it tremble with the effort, and frowned at his own visible weakness.

“Not well,” he answered.

Dean muttered something under his breath and reached to the table beside him, grabbing a damp cloth and laying it gently over Castiel’s forehead. The coolness was a balm, and Castiel closed his eyes gratefully, letting it wash over him.

“Wait.” His eyes flew open, and he blinked up at Dean. “You cannot--”

“I’m still wearing gloves,” Dean replied swiftly. “Look.”

He held up his hands so Castiel could see the leather protecting them from his touch. “I have no wish to cause you any more pain.”

Only somewhat relieved, Castiel narrowed his eyes. “But surely there have been others. Healers and such. How did you explain to them that they could not touch me unprotected?”

A faint flush crept over Dean’s cheeks. “I have not allowed anyone else into the chamber,” he admitted.

Castiel did not doubt Dean’s authority over his people, but he still found that difficult to believe. “For three days?”

Dean shrugged, still looking somewhat embarrassed. “I played the part of an overly protective, possessive new husband. Insisted you would be nursed back to health by no one but me.” He laughed. “I must have been convincing.”

“Indeed.” Castiel looked at him again, the lines around his mouth and the shadows behind his eyes. If he understood correctly, Dean had not left his side for the past three days. It was a terrifying, humbling thought, one he did not have the proper words to address.

“Thank you,” he said after a long pause. “Not only for caring for me, but for keeping our secret.”

Dean gave him a lopsided smile. “It is my duty, and my pleasure, to tend to my husband.” His smile slipped. “And I confess, I’m afraid I am to blame for your illness.”

Struggling to sit up, Castiel frowned at him. “Why would you say that?”

With gentle hands, Dean eased him into a seated position. “Perhaps not personally,” he admitted. “But”-- he waved his hand at the room around them-- “this place. My kingdom.”

It took a moment for his words to sink into Castiel’s fever-addled brain. “You think I am reacting to the climate here?”

Dean shrugged, clearly uneasy. “We have discovered that we cannot touch with causing one another immediate pain, and now, you fall victim to a fever unlike any I’ve ever seen after two weeks among us. It stands to reason that there is something that your body disagrees with being here.”

It made a certain, terrible sense. Already, Castiel could feel the heat building in his body again, despite the thinness of the linen over him and--

Looking down, he noted he was wearing only a soft shirt and loose drawers. He was certain he had been more formally dressed for the council meeting, and if Dean was the only one who had seen him since then--

“Did you”-- he could barely form the words around the lump of embarrassment in his throat-- “disrobe me?”

Dean’s eyes flared wide, and his cheeks turned as pink as the sunset silhouetted in the window behind them. “I did,” he replied. “I thought it would be more comfortable for you. Please forgive the liberty.”

It was not the way Castiel had imagined being undressed by his husband, but it left his chest feeling wonderfully tight regardless. “There is nothing to forgive,” he said softly. 

He wanted so badly to reach out, to pull Dean’s face down towards his and to kiss the worry away from the set of his mouth. Instead, he doubled over as a fit of coughing shook his body, his abdomen clenching with the force of it. 

Dean held a glass of water to his lips, and Castiel drank gratefully. “You must rest,” Dean said. “Your body needs to heal.”

Nodding, Castiel sank further down on the bed, closing his eyes. He felt a gentle hand brush his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead, the tenderness of the gesture tangible even through the leather of Dean’s gloves. “Sleep,” he murmured. “I will not leave you.”

With that promise echoing in his mind, Castiel did as instructed.

When next he woke, it was not to dreams of death and destruction, but to hushed voices. He dragged his eyes open, blinking in the bright sunlight. It was morning, he guessed, and he and Dean were no longer alone in their chamber. He could not see the visitor, as the bed was tucked into an alcove, but their voices carried in the lofty room.

“You must let a healer see to him.” That was Sam’s voice. Castiel opened his mouth to alert them of his awareness, but the words stuck in his dry throat. 

“Not yet.” Dean’s voice was low but insistent, and Castiel could imagine him crossing his arms over his chest, stubborn and defiant. “I can look after him.”

“You’re being absurd.” There was an edge to Sam’s voice that told Castiel this was not the first time they had had this conversation. “Dean. Have you considered what happens if he does not recover?”

There was a terrible pause. Castiel drew in a surprised breath, wondering how likely that outcome was. He was ill, yes, but mortally so? He did not wish to believe it.

“What is there to consider?” Dean asked sharply. 

“The political implications,” Sam replied. “If he dies on our lands, so soon after the treaty negotiations, what will the Hiemerians think?” He paused for a moment, and when Dean didn’t answer, continued. “They will think we had a hand in his death. That it was our plan all along. And I would not blame them for thinking so.”

He was right. It was exactly what Castiel’s people would think, and he would not blame them for it either. 

“Is that all that matters to you?” Dean’s voice cracked through the quiet room like a whip. “The political implications? We are talking about someone’s life, Sam. Castiel’s life.”

“Yes. I’m aware of that. But this goes so far beyond one person, Dean. If this alliance crumbles, the war will be even worse than it was before.” Castiel could hear the rising frustration in Sam’s voice. “If we lose him, we lose our greatest instrument of peace.”

“He is not a tool!” Dean seemed to have lost his ability to moderate his tone in his passion. “Or an instrument. He is a _person_, Sam.”

There was a long, lingering silence. Castiel tried again to catch their attention, but he still could not speak. He was not meant to hear this conversation, that much was clear, and guilt tore at his insides for intruding, even unintentionally. 

“You care for him,” Sam said eventually. He sounded surprised. “Truly.”

After another pause, Dean said, “Yes.”

Sam sighed heavily. “Very well. Tend to him yourself. But promise me, Dean. If he gets worse--”

“I am just as invested in his well-being as you are,” Dean shot back. “And for far better reasons.”

Castiel winced. He could not entirely blame Sam for taking a dispassionate view of the events, but it seemed Dean did. He hoped he would not cause a rift between them, one they could not repair.

“I am sorry.” Sam’s voice was quiet, but it sounded earnest. “For suggesting that he was nothing but a tool. I did not--” He trailed off.

“It’s alright.” Dean sighed. “This is how you have been raised to think. How you have needed to think, in order to bring us to this state. We are still adjusting to our new circumstances, as we discussed. I know how important this peace is to you.”

Finally, Castiel was able to clear his throat. There was a rush of footsteps, and then Dean appeared at his bedside, Sam a few paces behind. “Good morning,” Dean greeted him. “How are you feeling?”

Castiel gestured towards the cup of water on the table, and Dean swiftly brought it to his lips. After a long drink, Castiel said, “Less thirsty, now.”

A smile hovered on Dean’s lips. Looking past him, Castiel caught Sam’s speculative gaze and gave him a small nod. Sam froze, mouth tightening, and then returned the nod. Castiel did not think he would tell Dean that they had been overheard, but once he was well, he and Sam would have a discussion. An uncomfortable one, most likely, but a necessary one.

“Is there anything you need?” Dean asked, setting the cup of water back on the table. His eyes swept over Castiel, and his hand flexed at his side.

“Yes.” Looking up at him, Castiel managed a wry smile. “I need you to rest.” Dean immediately opened his mouth to protest, but Castiel cut him off. “And to bathe.”

Dean flushed, and behind him, Sam’s mouth twitched in a grin. “But who will watch over you?” Dean asked, with a deliberate flick of his eyes down to his gloved hands. 

“I can,” Sam volunteered, but Castiel gave a tiny shake of his head. The tension between them aside, Sam did not know their secret. If Castiel worsened and Sam made some move to assist him-- it was too risky.

“You have other tasks to attend to,” Castiel replied. “Running the kingdom while Dean and I are otherwise occupied.”

Sam dipped his head in acknowledgment, a flash of respect in his eyes. 

“Victor can stand guard,” Dean suggested. 

He already knew about the danger of touch between Castiel and a Calornan. He could be trusted. Castiel nodded briefly. “Yes.”

Dean turned to Sam. “Will you have him sent for, please?”

Sam nodded, already turning away. “Rest, both of you.” His eyes met Castiel’s, and there was a hint of an apology there. “You are both needed.”

Once he left the room, silence fell between Dean and Castiel. Without Sam’s presence distracting him, other moments of that overheard conversation echoed through Castiel’s mind: Sam saying Dean cared for Castiel, and Dean confirming it.

Dean had quite literally spent the past few days caring for Castiel, but to hear him state it so plainly-- Castiel did not know how to react to that. 

He cleared his throat again, and Dean immediately pressed the cup of water to his lips. “I will return as quickly as I can,” he said.

Castiel shook his head as firmly as he could in his weakened state. “No,” he croaked. “You need to take care of yourself as well, Dean. Give yourself this day, at least.”

Dean set his jaw, but Castiel stared him down, and he eventually sighed. “Very well. But if anything changes, if your condition takes a turn for the worse--”

“Victor will have you informed,” Castiel finished. “Yes. That’s settled then.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean reached down to fuss with the sheets covering Castiel. “You might have won this time,” he warned, “but I am only indulging you because you’re ill.”

“Noted.” Castiel smiled as Dean’s hands lingered over his shoulder in a light caress. “I look forward to our next battle of wills.”

Laughing, Dean sat back, and Castiel immediately missed the comforting weight of his hand. “Get better soon, then.”

“I will do my best.” Castiel yawned, already feeling sleep tugging at him again. His eyes slipped closed, and he was distantly aware of the door opening, then a whispered exchange between Dean and Victor, before he succumbed to slumber.

The next few days passed in much the same way. Castiel had periods of wakefulness, but they never lasted long, and he would soon pass back into unconsciousness. Dean was by his side more often than not, and when he was not, Victor was a solid, comforting presence.

One afternoon, Castiel woke to see Dean staring down at him, eyes shadowed. “This has gone on long enough,” he said quietly. “I want to bring a healer to examine you. But I will not do so without your permission.”

Throat dry, Castiel could only nod. He had hoped it would not come to this, but his condition, while not exactly worsening, was not improving either. By his calculations, he had spent a week in this bed. It was time they consulted an expert.

“Layla is one of our best healers, and I trust her discretion,” Dean continued. “Shall I have Victor request her presence?”

“Yes.” The word emerged barely above a whisper, but Castiel hoped his determination showed in his face. He was of no use to anyone in this state, not to Dean or the Calornans or to his own people. It was risky, allowing another person to know about the secret he and Dean kept, but if Dean said Layla could be trusted, Castiel believed him.

He drifted off again as Dean made the arrangements. Fortunately, he no longer dreamed of his home destroyed, not since that first time he woke. Or at least, he no longer remembered what tormented thoughts passed through his mind while under the grip of the fever. He counted himself lucky in that regard, if no other.

“Castiel?” Dean’s voice was quiet. Controlled. “I’ve brought Layla here to see to you.”

It was a struggle, but Castiel managed to open his eyes. Layla was just as he remembered her from the council meeting, blonde and pretty with soft eyes that were wise beyond her apparent years. “Your Majesty,” she said quietly, dipping a curtsey.

Castiel waved a hand in the air, wishing it didn’t cost him so much to do so. “Please,” he said. “I believe we can dispense with the niceties.”

“Very well.” A smile flashed across Layla’s face before it settled into neutral, professional lines. “I’m glad to see you awake and aware, but I confess, from what King Dean has told me, I am worried.”

Dean made a small noise of distress, and Castiel’s gaze swung towards him. He stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, face drawn as he watched Layla. “But you can help him,” he said. 

There was an awful pause. “I hope so,” Layla murmured eventually. “Now. If you will permit me to examine you?” She held up her hands, covered in white leather gloves. “I have been properly forewarned and forearmed.”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes, and he nodded, though he still looked unhappy. “Proceed,” Castiel said. 

Layla’s gloved hands were gentle as she raised Castiel’s arm, noting the way it trembled with the effort. She listened to the beat of his heart and asked delicate questions about his energy level, appetite, and sleeping patterns.

“Do you dream?” she asked, and Castiel froze.

“Yes,” he replied. Something in his tone must have betrayed his feelings, because Dean moved from his place at the foot of the bed to sit at Castiel’s side, his very nearness a comfort. 

Layla nodded. “In these dreams, what do you see?”

Castiel exhaled slowly, glancing over at Dean. “The destruction of my kingdom, in fire and smoke.”

Dean swore under his breath, then held up his hands at Layla’s sharp look. “My apologies for the interruption.” He looked at Castiel, eyes softening, “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t wish to relive it,” Castiel admitted. Even now, his hands twitched against the bed linens, remembering Michael’s voice. _You have betrayed us all._

“I am sorry.” Layla’s voice cut through his pained recollections. “I had to ask.”

“Has it helped?” Dean asked. “Do you know why he suffers?”

Slowly, Layla shook her head. “It is some sort of fever,” she said. “But unlike any I have ever seen. Rather than breaking, it seems to come in waves, receding and then coming again, like a tide.” Gently, she reached out and smoothed the hair away from Castiel’s brow. “I hate to suggest it, but-- my lord, have you eaten the same food as your husband? Drank water from the same pitcher?”

Dean’s face went pale. “Poison?” he whispered. “You suspect poison?”

“It would explain the ongoing symptoms.” Layla’s face was terribly compassionate. “And there may be some among the castle’s residents who are not easily able to forget years of enmity with Hiemere.”

Castiel drew in a shuddering breath, but Dean shook his head, eyes bright with denial. “No,” he insisted. “I refuse to believe it. And even so, to answer your questions, yes. We have shared a pitcher of water, though not the cup itself. He has barely eaten anything but broth and some fruit and simple grains, and when he has not finished his portion, I have.” 

Layla sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then I am mistaken. The symptoms are undeniable, though. His body is attempting to force something out, some influence that disagrees with him.”

Dean and Castiel exchanged a look, and Castiel nodded. They had already brought Layla into their confidence. They could certainly benefit from her informed opinion on their admittedly far-fetched theory.

Castiel coughed as he sat up. “You know why you must wear gloves,” he began. 

One of Layla’s brows raised with interest. “Yes.”

“It seems there is some… fundamental incompatibility, shall we say, between my people and yours,” he continued. He felt Dean stiffen, but ignored him for now. “Would it be ridiculous to suppose that this could also extend to the environment itself? That it is the very air and water and earth of Calorna that is poison to me?”

To her credit, Layla gave the suggestion careful consideration, her forehead creasing as she mulled it over. “It is possible,” she said eventually. “I have never before heard of such a thing, but then, we have only ever had Hiemerians on our lands during battle. Any ill-effects could be ascribed to the stress and exhaustion suffered then.” She shook her head slowly. “There is so much we still do not know about each other. But combined with what you have told me of the way your bodies react when you touch”-- she lifted her shoulders in a graceful shrug-- “I would say yes, it is a definite possibility.”

“So what do we do?” Dean turned anguished eyes on Castiel. “He cannot remain here if it causes him this much pain.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Dean was right. Eventually, Castiel would worsen. He had no desire to die, and especially not in such a manner. 

“I can give you a tonic that will help ease the symptoms.” Layla stood, smoothing the apron she wore over her gown. “An herbal blend of my own devising. It will cool you internally, and I will add some ingredients to combat the aches in your head.”

Castiel nodded. “That would be much appreciated.”

“If you take it as instructed, and do not exert yourself, you may be able to resume public appearances and duties in small doses,” she continued. “But I do not think it will cure you.”

“A temporary solution is better than none at all,” Dean said. At some point during the conversation, his hand had come to rest on Castiel’s knee, and he moved it up and down in an apparently unconscious caress. “It will suffice, until we know more.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, reaching for Layla’s hand. He squeezed it as best as he could manage. “For your assistance, and for your discretion.”

She smiled down at him. “I know where my loyalties lie. And you are in my care now, Your Majesty. I will do everything in my power to see you restored to health.”

Turning to Dean, she stripped off her gloves and pressed a fond hand to his shoulder. “I will go prepare the tonic and have it sent up immediately. You did the right thing, summoning me here.”

Dean caught her hand and pressed a courteous kiss to it. “Thank you, my lady.”

Castiel watched, a knot of conflicted emotions rising in his throat. What might it be like, to be the recipient of such a gesture? To have Dean smile at him, their hands joined? He was not jealous-- he knew there was nothing other than respect between Dean and Layla. But he was perhaps envious, wishing he could be in her place. Wishing he and Dean could touch without the barrier of their gloves between them. 

The door closed softly behind Layla, and Dean let out a shuddering breath. “So,” he said quietly. 

“So,” Castiel echoed. He raised his shoulders in a weak shrug. “It will be enough, for a time.”

They met each other’s eyes, the question neither of them dared to voice written plainly on their faces. _For how long?_


	8. Chapter 8

Dean was in the audience hall when the messenger arrived, bursting dramatically through the doors and interrupting the current speaker. All eyes turned toward her as she approached, dropping a quick bow as she extended a note towards Dean.

He scanned over it quickly, sitting back on the throne with a sigh. The delegation from Hiemere had finished their final preparations, and would begin the journey across the mountains the following day. “Thank you,” he said to the messenger. “Dismissed.”

She turned sharply on her heel and left the hall, a trail of whispers following in her wake. Dean held up one hand to quiet them. “We have just received word that the representatives from Hiemere will arrive before the sun sets tomorrow. I ask all of you to pass the remainder of this day in contemplation of the significance of this event, and to rise tomorrow with welcome in your hearts. It is a new era for our two lands, and we must be ready to greet it.”

He caught Kevin’s eyes and gave him a small nod. He had left most of the preparations in his capable hands, his own being rather occupied with an ailing husband. 

Regarding that husband-- Castiel would wish to hear this news. Dean cleared his throat and addressed the crowd once more. “If there are no further matters to be discussed, I suggest we return to our own pursuits.” He waited, but no voice was raised, so he waved them away. “Until tomorrow.”

Sam was already hovering at his side before he even finished speaking. “The guest chambers are all prepared,” he reported. “The kitchens are busy ensuring everything will be ready for the welcome feast.”

“Good.” Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Will you see to the stables as well? Ensure they’re swept and stocked and ready for our guests?”

“Of course.”

Dean nodded his approval. “Thank you, Sam. I’m off to inform Castiel of the news.”

Something flickered over Sam’s face too quickly for Dean to identify it. “Please give him my best wishes.”

Dean frowned at him. Sam had not returned to see Castiel since that first visit. “You could tell him yourself,” he suggested. “If you fear taking ill yourself, I can assure you it does not seem to be catching.”

Sam gave him a tight smile and shook his head. “Another time. I have other tasks that demand my attention.”

There was more to this than Sam was letting on, but Dean let the matter pass for now. He shook his head and waved Sam on his way. “Until tomorrow, then.”

He took the quickest route back to his chambers, smiling at those he passed in the corridors but not pausing to speak with any of them. He had done his best to divide his time between his duties as a king and as a husband, but today had been filled with council meetings and this public assembly, meaning he hadn’t seen Castiel since this morning. It lent speed to his steps as he strode through the halls, imagining the smile that would grace Castiel’s features at the news.

As a courtesy, he knocked lightly on his own chamber door before pushing it open. Castiel was curled on the bed, one arm flung out from under the thin linen sheet that covered his body. Dean’s mouth tightened as he looked down at him, noting the deepened hollows of his collarbone and the sharpened lines of his cheeks and jaw. He had lost weight over the course of his illness, and it pained Dean to see him looking so diminished.

Reaching out with a gloved hand, he carefully swept a strand of dark hair away from Castiel’s brow. Rather than waking, Castiel sighed and turned deeper into the pillow. “Castiel,” Dean said softly. “I’m sorry to wake you, but there’s news I thought you would wish to hear.”

Castiel’s eyes opened, fixing on Dean’s face. As always, he was struck by the intensity of their colour, a blue unlike any he had ever seen. “News?” he repeated, voice rough.

“Good news,” Dean amended. He reached for the ever-present cup of water and held it to Castiel’s lips. “The delegation of your fellow Hiemerians should arrive by this time tomorrow.”

A slow smile spread across Castiel’s face, just as Dean had hoped it would. Surely the thought of being surrounded by his own people would restore some of his energy and enthusiasm.

“That is indeed good news,” he said. He sat up against the pillows and drained the last of the water, then gestured for more. Over the past weeks, he and Dean had developed an excellent short-hand communication system for requests just like this. “I will be there to greet them when they arrive.”

There was no doubt in his voice, only pure determination. Thanks to Layla’s tonic, Castiel could spend part of the day up and about, meeting with advisors or touring the castle at Dean’s side, but he still required a great deal of rest, and his condition was not improving. It had not worsened, at least, and for that, Dean was beyond grateful.

If Castiel said he would be there to greet the delegation, then he would. He was nothing if not stubborn, Dean had learned. 

“Should I leave you to rest now, then?” he asked. He did not really want to leave, but he would allow Castiel to decide.

“No.” Castiel shook his head with a wry smile. “We both know I will fall asleep again soon, but for now, stay.” He patted the side of the bed in invitation.

Once they had determined Dean was not at risk of succumbing to the illness that plagued Castiel, they had grown bolder. After a long day of meetings and speeches, Dean found it wonderfully relaxing to sink back onto the wide bed beside Castiel, talking over the events of the day with him. They still maintained a careful distance, but as long as Dean was awake and aware, he did not fear accidentally touching Castiel and causing them both that piercing pain. There were times he wished he could drift off to sleep, listening to Castiel’s steady breathing beside him, but he could not let down his guard that far. 

With a sigh of relief, Dean stripped off his embroidered tunic and the jewels that he wore, then climbed onto the bed beside Castiel. “Tell me about the delegates,” he suggested. “Is there anything I ought to know before they arrive?”

Castiel rolled onto his side, tucking his hands under his face, and launched into a story about the time the high priestess caught him nodding off during worship. Dean listened intently, treasuring the glimpses it revealed of a younger, more carefree Castiel, and hoped he might one day get a chance to meet such a version of him.

Dressed in his finest garments, Dean stood just inside the castle gates as the sun began to sink into the west. He glanced up at the sentries posted on the walls, waiting for the signal that the delegation had been sighted, but there was still no movement. Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight.

“You’re as impatient as a child waiting for dessert.” Castiel’s voice was low and amused. Somehow, he stood straight and tall, sharply dressed in clothes that had been quickly tailored to fit the slimmer lines of his body. 

“How are you not?” Dean murmured in response. 

Castiel gave him a sidelong look. “Perhaps I’m just better at hiding it.”

That, Dean could believe. Glancing to his other side, he met Sam’s eyes. It was still strange to see him dressed as a prince and not as a general, his hair loose rather than tightly pulled away from his face. In his brother’s eyes, he saw a hint of the trepidation that roiled in his own gut. It was an enormous risk they were taking, this meeting, and they could only pray that it would be rewarded.

There was a shout from the walls, and Dean’s eyes immediately flew in that direction. Beside him, he felt Castiel stiffen, and he reached down between them to squeeze his gloved hand. Castiel gave him a small smile, but there was no time to speak before the gates were flung wide to admit the new arrivals.

They made an impressive sight, tall and proud in their saddles, their horses showing no signs of discomfort in their new surroundings. Dean drew in a deep breath and stepped forward, his golden crown a heavy weight on his head.

“I am King Dean of Calorna,” he said. “You are most welcome among us.”

The first woman to dismount gave him a cool, assessing gaze as she pushed back the hood of her pure white robe. “Greetings, King Dean. I am Billie, High Priestess of Hiemere, and I thank you for your welcome.”

Her eyes flicked over to Castiel, and she made him a low bow. “Greetings, Your Highness. It is good to see you.”

Castiel bowed in response, his hand slipping from Dean’s grip as he did. Dean watched him carefully, knowing that despite Layla’s tonic, this might be an effort for him. “I am delighted to see you as well, my lady.”

“Please.” Dean swept his arm toward the castle. “Let us retire inside, so that you might refresh yourselves after your journey.”

He fell in with a serene young woman as they made their way inside. “I am Lady Hannah,” she said. “Cousin to Castiel.”

Dean gave her a courteous bow. “It is an honour to meet you, my lady, and a pleasure to meet a member of my husband’s family. He has spoken often of you.”

A smile lit her features, softening them. “It is good to see that you have had such conversations.” She looked ahead to where Castiel and Billie were leading the group, her face darkening. “But my cousin-- he does not look well.”

Dean winced. Of course it would be a shock to the Hiemerians, to see their prince looking so drawn and thin after only a month’s absence. “I assure you, he is in good spirits and being treated with every respect and courtesy,” he said, keeping his voice low. He met Hannah’s skeptical gaze, hoping she could read the conviction in his face. “We will speak of it later, but privately.”

Her expression more curious than concerned now, she nodded, and they fell into a more pleasant conversation about the journey here, the treacherous pass through the mountains and the shock of the warmth as soon as they crossed over them.

Once inside, most of the crowd fell away, leaving Dean, Castiel, Sam, and Kevin with their visitors. Dean led them to a small, comfortable room that looked out towards the mountains, where refreshments awaited them. “Please, be seated,” he instructed. “Relax. We will have a formal feast in a few hours’ time, but I thought it best we meet in smaller numbers first.”

He glanced towards the two members of the delegation he had not yet met. “Introductions are in order, I believe.”

“Of course.” Castiel nodded and gestured to the Hiemerians, who had seated themselves at the far end of the table. “You have met Billie and Hannah. Joining them are Max and Alicia.”

Dean nodded a greeting at them. “Welcome to Calorna.”

They both smiled back at him, young and eager. “And you have already met King Dean,” Castiel continued. “We are also joined by Prince Sam and Chief Strategist Kevin Tran.”

A murmur of polite greetings passed around the table. The niceties observed, Dean leaned his forearms on the table and gazed at his guests. “I never thought we would see this day,” he said frankly. “I am truly honoured by your presence here, and by the trust you have shown in making this journey.”

“A trust I am not sure has been earned,” Billie said slowly. She looked at Castiel, then back at Dean, and he flinched from her coldness in her gaze. “We came here under the banner of peace, in honour of the new alliance between our kingdoms, and yet we find our prince looking more a prisoner than a husband, despite his fine clothes.”

Dean opened his mouth to suggest that conversation could wait until later, but Castiel cut him off. “I have been ill,” he admitted. He looked at Dean, and there was an apology in his eyes. “I had hoped we might leave this discussion until later, but I should have known your first concern would be for my health.”

“Castiel,” Dean said under his breath, a warning.

“They deserve to know,” Castiel said, not meeting his eyes. 

“Deserve to know what?”

It was Kevin who asked, not one of the Hiemerians, but Dean could see the same question on each of their faces. He sighed, knowing it was too late to turn back now. He gave a small shrug, motioning for Castiel to proceed.

“King Dean and I believe,” Castiel said carefully, “that there is a-- fundamental incompatibility between myself and the environment here in Calorna, and that this is what has caused my prolonged illness.”

Much to Dean’s relief, he did not mention the matter of touch. That felt more private, more personal, and Dean was glad that it could remain unspoken, at least for now.

Billie’s eyes narrowed. “A fundamental incompatibility,” she repeated. “Then-- are we not also at risk, being here?”

Somehow, Dean had not considered that. But Castiel had, judging by the swiftness of his answer. “I do not believe so,” he said. “Or at least not immediately. It took over a week for the sickness to truly affect me, and I believe it should do the same with you. As your visit is only intended to last three days, I do not believe you are in any danger.”

“How could you allow this to happen?” Max crossed his arms over his chest, all traces of good nature vanishing from his face. “Is this part of some attempt to weaken us? To humiliate us?” He turned to Kevin, suspicion radiating from every line of his body. “Was this your idea, Chief Strategist?” He spat out the title like a curse.

“Please.” Dean held up a hand. “We had no idea this would happen. How could we know?” He looked at the Hiemerians as he spoke, and then at Sam and Kevin, who wore matching expressions of disbelief. It must have been difficult for them, a situation they could not manage with their schemes. “We have never before been in this position.”

Hannah nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on Castiel’s face. “You do not look well, cousin,” she said bluntly. “I ask you now, with all those assembled here as witnesses: do you believe your suffering has been deliberate, or in any way influenced by the Calornans?”

Dean held his breath as Castiel considered the question. “No,” he said eventually, and Dean loosed a sigh of relief. “I have been treated with care and consideration.” He looked over at Dean, and for a moment, there was a glimmer of something soft and warm in his eyes. “This illness was not borne of any devious plan.”

“Why did you not tell me this?” Sam demanded. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. 

“We had no wish to cast doubts on the alliance,” Dean answered. “New and fragile as it is.”

Slowly, Billie nodded. “A wise move,” she murmured. “It might be interpreted as a sign of disfavour, forces beyond our control signalling their displeasure.”

Dean felt a chill pass over him at the detached tone of her voice. As a priestess, she might be the very one to interpret Castiel’s illness in such a manner. “But you have resisted it,” she continued, considering Castiel once more. “We will speak more of this, my prince.”

Castiel inclined his head gravely. “Yes, my lady.”

Kevin cleared his throat. “If I may?” All heads turned in his direction, and he gave a sharp nod. “I suggest we continue with the proceedings as planned. The feast tonight, the talks tomorrow, and the tournament the day after. If Prince Castiel is correct”-- he shrugged-- “you will not suffer any ill effects during this time, and you may return to your own kingdom without this knowledge spreading.”

“But what of our prince?” Alicia asked. She looked somewhat shocked at herself for speaking in such illustrious company, but she pressed forward. “He cannot remain here in this condition.”

Dean bit his lip. It was the question he had avoided asking himself, from the first moment they considered the source of Castiel’s illness. Layla’s tonic only brought him temporary relief, and Dean hated to see his vitality draining away from him. 

“He will return with you, of course.” Sam spoke as though he could not believe he had to provide such an obvious answer. 

“What?” Dean sat up straight, incredulous.

Sam frowned, shrugging. “We always intended for him to return home, to be crowned in his own hall and to take over from his regent. It is perhaps slightly earlier than anticipated, but with the delegation already here and his health in the balance, it only makes sense.”

At the other end of the table, the Hiemerians were nodding their agreement. Dean opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. 

He did not want Castiel to leave. It was as simple, and as selfish, as that. But how could he say so, when Castiel’s health was in jeopardy? How could Dean’s own feelings matter in comparison with that?

He looked over at Castiel. There was no visible emotion on his face, just thoughtfulness. “Castiel?” Dean asked, tentative. It would be his decision, and Dean would have to respect it, no matter the pain it caused.

“Yes,” Castiel said eventually. He did not meet Dean’s eyes. “Yes, I believe that would be for the best.”

They did not have much time for private conversations over the following days. The feast was a loud, triumphant affair, and Dean would have enjoyed it mightily if not for the shadow that Castiel’s imminent departure cast over his mood. He forced himself to smile, to applaud the entertainment, to make polite conversation with their guests, but his eyes strayed to Castiel at every opportunity, each glance as painful as a touch between them.

Even after they retired to their chambers, there was no time to discuss Castiel’s decision. He collapsed into bed immediately upon entering the room, and Dean could not burden him with his own conflicted feelings when he already had so much to bear. The trade negotiations the next day took all their combined energy, and it wasn’t until the day of the tournament, the last full day of the Hiemerians’ visit, that they had a chance to speak privately.

They were seated in the places of honour, several steps above all the others and with the best view of the proceedings. Rowena and Billie led them in a joint prayer, their voices mingling in perfect harmony as they sang the traditional hymns, and then the archers opened the competitions.

Dean cared little for their contest. He glanced over at Castiel, cool and composed beside him. “How are you feeling?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “I know this cannot be easy for you, with the sun so intense.”

Castiel managed a small smile, though his eyes remained distant. “I’m fine,” he replied. He patted his hip, where a small flask was attached to his belt. “I have Layla’s tonic with me.”

“Good.” Dean nodded. Looking down, he could see the Hiemerian delegation only a few rows below them, and he fought back the surge of panic he always felt when he remembered they were leaving tomorrow, and Castiel with them. “Castiel--” he started, then paused. 

Castiel turned to him, expectant, and Dean’s words died on his lips. He could not do this. He could not impose his feelings on Castiel, not when so much hung in the balance. 

It was unfair. There was no other word for it. Dean had been prepared to accept this union, to respect the treaty and to treat Castiel as friend. But over the month of their marriage and the weeks of Castiel’s illness, it had become impossible for him to view Castiel as only a friend, only an ally. Something deeper had grown between them, and now they were being torn apart.

“I think I ought to give your people a true spectacle.” It was not at all what he intended to say, but the words slipped out before he could pull them back. On the field below them, attendants were clearing the targets from the archery contest and setting up for the sword-fighting portion of the tournament. 

A frown crossed over Castiel’s features. “Dean--”

Ignoring him, Dean rose to his feet. Sam would be participating in the melee, he knew. It was tradition, all the soldiers eager to take their chance to land some safe hits on their general with their blunt wooden swords. So why should Dean not do the same?

He trotted quickly down the steps, ignoring Castiel calling after him. The sun shone down fiercely, and Dean wiped sweat from his brow as he waved to the attendants, who snapped to attention at his presence. “Might you have a spare sword for your king?” he called out.

A murmur of interest ran through the crowd, and Dean turned to wave up at them, smiling despite the anger coursing through his veins. Three swords were offered to him at once, and he took one without looking, shrugging off his outer layers as he did. He climbed over the barrier and crossed the field to the group of other fighters, who were whispering and nudging each other in disbelief. 

He rested the sword casually over his shoulder and grinned fiercely at them, no mirth in it. “Shall we?”

The trumpets sounded, and Dean lost himself in the fight, in the thrust and the parry and the blocks. The audience roared in approval, but he barely heard them. All that echoed in his mind was Castiel’s voice as he agreed to leave with his people.

He struck out as though striking at the universe itself, railing against the injustice of bringing him and Castiel together while keeping them apart. First with the pain their touch caused, and now with this. If there was any meaning to be found in their suffering, Dean could not see it. All he knew was that Castiel was leaving, and Dean had no idea when he would see him again. 

His next blow was expertly blocked, and he blinked up into Sam’s face. “What are you doing?” his brother hissed between his teeth.

Dean shook his head and did not answer. Sam would not understand. Despite their earlier conversation, Sam did not seem to grasp the depth of feeling Dean had for Castiel. He could not possibly understand why Dean needed this right now, the thrill of the fight the only thing that could distract him from his heart slowly crumbling to pieces in his chest.

They were separated once more as Dean pressed forward with reckless abandon. There were no real consequences here, no lives at stake. He let his mind go blissfully blank, his body moving with practiced ease, dodging blows and landing his own with unerring accuracy. One by one, his opponents conceded defeat, until he was face-to-face with Sam once more.

A hush fell over the crowd as the two brothers circled carefully around one another. Sam’s face was tight with concentration, but Dean grinned sharply at him, taunting. Sam struck, but Dean stepped back in time to dodge. They were well-matched, the two of them, and it was a simple pleasure to test himself against such a worthy opponent.

“What point are you trying to prove?” Sam asked with another half-hearted strike. “You do not need to impress the Hiemerians, Dean.”

“It isn’t that,” Dean answered shortly. 

“Then what?” Sam ducked Dean’s next strike with ease. 

Dean shrugged and extended his foot, hoping to trip Sam, but his brother was too clever to fall for such a trick. 

“If you win, I might tell you.”

Sam laughed, then, the challenge sparking a new fire behind his eyes, and their conversation halted as they let their swords speak for them. It seemed they might fight forever, but eventually, Sam began to tire. Dean’s anger still coursed through him, lending him strength, and with one last burst of speed, his blade swept up to rest at Sam’s throat.

Panting, Sam shook his head slowly. “I yield,” he said, and the crowd erupted into applause.

As the adrenaline drained from his body, Dean exhaled shakily. A smiling attendant approached, holding a crown of red roses on a golden pillow. She motioned for Dean to lower his head, but he paused, looking up into the stands instead.

To the highest level, where Castiel stood, a glimmering figure in white and grey, cheering Dean’s success.

Clarity swept over Dean’s mind like a wave of cool water. He took the circlet from the attendant, holding it gently in his hands, and made his way up the stairs once more, cheers of praise echoing in his ears. He ignored them all, his attention fixed on that one lone figure, high above all the rest.

Castiel shook his head as he approached, a reluctant smile on his face. “Dean, that was--” he started, but stopped in surprise as Dean dropped to his knees before him.

Holding up the circlet of roses, Dean said, “I offer this token, husband, as a sign of my commitment to you and to the alliance between us.”

It was an impulsive, dramatic, and likely ridiculous gesture, but the wonder in Castiel’s eyes made it worthwhile. Swallowing visibly, he nodded, gesturing to Dean to rise.

With trembling hands, Dean placed the circlet on Castiel’s head, careful not to make direct contact with him. “I am coming with you,” he whispered fiercely, pressed close enough that no one else could hear the words. “When you leave tomorrow, I am coming with you.”


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel’s fever began to ease the moment they started the downward descent through the mountain pass.

If there had been any doubt whatsoever that it was caused by his presence in Calorna, that doubt now vanished. He inhaled deeply, the cool mountain air settling over him like a blessing. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Dean staring at him and raised one eyebrow. Dean smiled ruefully and nudged his horse forward to ride alongside Castiel’s. “How are you feeling?”

“Better already.” Castiel inhaled again, sitting up straighter in his saddle. “It’s good to be home.”

Dean’s smile softened, but before he could answer, a shiver ran through his body. He laughed and adjusted the cloak over his shoulders. “I can’t say the climate agrees with me as much as it does with you, but I am prepared to take my turn with the discomfort.”

Castiel had tried to tell him this would happen. That he would suffer in Hiemere just as Castiel had suffered in Calorna. But Dean was insistent: he would travel to Hiemere with Castiel, remain as long as he could, and then return home before the illness left him unable to travel. 

His advisors had echoed Castiel’s sentiments. Sam and Kevin had argued long into the night, trying to persuade Dean not to go. Dean had listened patiently to all their speeches, then folded his arms across his chest and said, “I am going.”

And that was that.

Now here he was, looking around with curious eyes as the steep mountain pass led them down towards Hiemere. They were accompanied by the original Hiemerian delegation, as well as by Rowena, Charlie, and Victor, representing the court and temples of Calorna. It was only polite, Dean had argued, to repay the courtesy of an official visit. 

Castiel didn’t care about any of the trappings, any of the official reasons. All that mattered was that Dean was here, at his side, riding into certain sickness. All for him.

“It must have been difficult, getting your forces through this pass,” Dean commented. He grimaced, then, and gave Castiel an apologetic look. “Or should I not--”

Castiel waved his apology aside. “There is no sense pretending the last centuries of war never happened, Dean. If we cannot speak of them, how can we ever hope to move past them?”

“A wise answer, my prince.” Billie nodded her approval as she brought her horse up just behind Castiel. “He is correct, King Dean. As are you. We were often hampered by the narrowness of the pass through the mountains, but it is the only access point. We had no other choice.”

“We?” Castiel threw her a sharp glance. She spoke as though--

“I was not always a priestess,” Billie replied with a gleam in her eyes. “I have been a soldier as well.”

Dean let out a low whistle, looking at her with increased respect, while Castiel rode on in stunned silence. He distantly remembered the High Priestess before Billie, but he had never imagined that she had come from such a martial background before taking up the role. 

“Perhaps we may discuss the possibility of widening the pass, to increase the efficiency of trade,” Dean said, and he and Billie fell into a conversation about the logistics of it all. Castiel listened, but did not offer much in the way of commentary, too absorbed in the sharp wonder of being home once more.

They had almost reached the foot of the mountains, and the air was growing increasingly cold. Castiel reached into his saddlebags and withdrew a thicker cloak, gesturing for Dean to do the same. Dean nodded his thanks as he settled the cloak over his shoulders. “How much farther?” he asked.

“Two hours, at this pace,” Castiel answered. He pointed to their left, where the mountain range curved slightly. “The palace is there, at the foot of the great waterfall. We turn west once we reach the base of the mountains.”

Dean nodded, narrowing his eyes in that direction. “I can see nothing from here.”

“Soon,” Castiel promised him. 

“I certainly hope so!” Charlie called from behind them. Her voice was muffled by the hood of the cloak she had pulled over her head. “How do you bear this cold?”

Castiel grinned over his shoulder at her. “This? This is nothing.”

She grimaced and hunched down further in her saddle. Taking pity on her, Alicia passed her a flask of hot spiced wine, which Charlie accepted eagerly. 

It was heartening to see the way the Calornans and the Hiemerians were working together on this journey. Turning away, Castiel caught Dean’s eye once again and matched his smile with one of his own. It boded well for the future of their alliance. 

An hour later, Castiel saw the first shimmer on the horizon. A wave of peace passed over him, and he reached out to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder. The advantage of his land was that it required them to be buried under layers of fabric at all times, so they were in less danger of causing each other pain with their touch. “Look,” he said softly.

Dean leaned forward in his saddle. “There?” he asked, pointing at the distant palace. “Is that--”

“The sunlight reflects off the walls of crystal and ice,” Billie said. There was a note of pride in her voice, and all the Hiemerians held their heads high as she spoke. “You will see it better as we draw nearer.”

The snow crunched underneath their horses’ hooves, but none fell from the sky to obscure their vision. Castiel watched Dean’s face as they rode towards his palace, the wonder in his eyes as it came fully into view: a towering rise of marble, crystal, and ice, white and silver and glorious in the light of the setting sun. 

His home. Where his throne awaited him. 

“It’s beautiful,” Dean said softly. “The word is inadequate, but I can’t find any other.”

“It is,” Castiel agreed around the lump of emotion in his throat. “Come. They’re waiting for us.”

They clattered over the bridge that spanned the frozen river, waving to the group of fur-swaddled workers who were cutting chunks of ice from its surface to load onto carts. “We melt the ice down for our water supply,” Castiel explained. “If we travel into the mountains, there are springs we can access, but we use both as sources.”

“It’s not at all what I expected,” Dean remarked, having the good grace to look somewhat ashamed.

Castiel gave him a wry grin. “We have learned to live with the extremes of our situation,” he said. “Just as you have.”

Dean nodded, his eyes still fixed on the palace ahead. “I’m glad I accompanied you here.”

Reaching out, Castiel took hold of his hand, though he could barely feel it through the thick gloves they both wore. “As am I.”

After a whirlwind welcome and a splendid homecoming feast, Castiel led Dean through the halls of the palace towards his--their-- new suite of rooms. He placed a hand on the door, tracing over the lines of inlaid silver, and exhaled slowly.

“These were your brother’s rooms.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” Castiel answered anyway. “They have been prepared for me in my absence, as Balthazar has laid claim to my old suite during his regency.” He shook his head in amusement. His cousin had been delighted to see them, but entirely unwilling to cede Castiel’s old apartments back to him. 

“Allow me.” Dean brushed past him and pushed the door open, beckoning Castiel inside.

The rooms were just as Castiel remembered them: soaring ceilings, windows that looked out towards the frozen waterfall, piles of cushions and heavy blankets on the enormous bed. There was an expectant hush over the room, like it was waiting for their arrival. Dean crossed to the centre and turned in a slow circle, letting out a whistle. “Impressive,” he said.

Castiel supposed so. It would be an adjustment, living in these rooms, but his life had changed in a number of ways since the last night he had spent within these walls. He would find a way to cope. 

Dean cleared his throat, drawing Castiel’s attention back to him. Shifting his weight from side to side, Dean tilted his head in the direction of the bed. “Forgive my indelicacy, but-- there’s no convenient chaise here.”

Castiel bit his lip. Of course the attendants would have had no reason to provide a second place to sleep. He glanced over at the bed, his cheeks warming at the thought of sharing it with Dean, lying close to him even if they still could not touch.

“We could--” he said, then trailed off. It was still a risk.

Dean took a step closer. “We could what?”

Castiel looked at him, striking in the black and white garments he had worn to the welcome feast, their bulk hiding some of the lines of his body but not diminishing his appeal in any way. “It is much colder here,” he said carefully. “I normally sleep in a long robe, with trousers underneath.”

He saw understanding dawn in Dean’s eyes, followed by a flash of what he knew to be desire. “You think it is safe?”

“Safer,” Castiel corrected him. “We should still… try to maintain our distance. If our hands and faces are uncovered--”

“I understand.” Dean nodded, the light of desire fading from his eyes. “Still.”

“Still,” Castiel echoed. It would be pleasant, having Dean sleeping so near to him. Torturous, not being able to reach out to gather him close, but pleasant. 

The air between them was thick, tense. Castiel swallowed roughly and gestured to the wardrobe. “You should find sleepwear there.”

Dean nodded and opened the door to investigate. Politely, Castiel turned aside as he began to strip off his garments. He did not turn back until he heard Dean cough. “I’m decent.”

He looked endearingly rumpled, his hair mussed from pulling his clothes over his head, the heavy white nightshirt falling gracefully from his broad shoulders and exposing a tantalizing patch of skin at his collar. Castiel suppressed the bolt of lust that ran through his body and managed a tight smile as he changed into his own sleepwear, Dean taking his turn to look away.

When he was done, Castiel pulled back the thick covers on the bed and gestured to Dean to climb in. They settled back against the cushions, and Castiel rolled over to face him, marvelling at how close he was and yet railing against how far they still were. 

Everything he wanted, close enough to grasp, and still so out of reach.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he whispered. “In the morning, we will explore my land together.”

A soft smile hovered over Dean’s lips. “Goodnight, Castiel.”

Whether it was the mere fact of being back in his own kingdom, or having Dean beside him, Castiel could not say, but that night he slept better than he had in years.

The following day, Castiel dismissed any requests for meetings or planning sessions. “You have managed this long without me,” he said. “You can manage one day more.”

Balthazar sighed and waved him away, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Run along, then, Castiel. I suppose I can bear the burden of rule a little longer.”

“You have to earn your place in my old rooms somehow.” Castiel dropped him a mocking bow. “With your leave?”

“Yes, yes. Go.”

Whistling to himself, Castiel returned to his chambers to fetch Dean, who had slept even later than he had. Waking up beside him, seeing the softened beauty of his features in repose, was a miracle Castiel had never expected to experience. They could steal this one day for themselves before he had to take up the business of ruling. 

Dean was fully dressed, standing at the window with his back to Castiel. “I have a surprise for you,” Castiel said as he entered the room.

“A surprise?” Dean turned to look at him, eyes wide. 

“Yes.” Castiel beckoned him forward. “You have the boots that were left for you? Good. Come with me.”

A slight frown on his face, Dean followed him through the palace halls, winding their way down towards the ground level. “Are there not things we should be doing today? Meeting with your regent, discussing your coronation?”

“Not today,” Castiel said firmly. “Today is for us.”

He glanced over in time to see the flash of pleasure in Dean’s eyes before he looked away. It was a beautiful sunny morning, cold enough to steal the breath from their lungs when they emerged through a small side gate but with less wind than they often experienced. A perfect day for what Castiel had in mind.

Dean drew to a halt, looking down at the wooden sleds propped against the side of the door. “What--”

Castiel grinned up at him. The sun was shining, he was feeling more energetic than he had in weeks, and he had Dean here with him in his own land. “We are going sledding,” he announced.

Casting a suspicious eye at the sled, Dean shook his head slowly. “I’ve never--”

“Don’t worry.” Castiel passed him the rope attached to the larger of the sleds, tossing the other over his shoulder. “I’ll teach you.”

There was a gentle hill only ten minutes’ walk away, and Castiel struck out in that direction. With a slight sigh, Dean followed after him, their boots moving through the snow with ease. “Is this not an activity for children?” Dean asked.

“Not at all.” Castiel gestured at the sleds they pulled behind them. “As you can see, these are clearly made to fit fully-grown adults, and so, this is an activity for everyone, regardless of age.”

Dean squinted at him, raising one gloved hand to block out the sunlight. “And we just-- climb up a hill, then slide down it, only to do the same thing again?”

“It’s much more fun than you make it sound, but yes.” Castiel shook his head in amusement at Dean’s reluctance. “Try it. If you do not enjoy it, we will find another way to pass the day.”

“Very well.” Dean increased his pace as they made their way up the hill. “I will indulge you and your strange customs, my lord, as I am a guest in your land.”

“You are not a guest.” The words escaped Castiel’s lips before he could think them through, and he saw the hurt that flared in Dean’s eyes. “You are my husband.”

Slowly, Dean smiled. “Then I will indulge you and your strange customs, husband.”

They reached the top of the hill and Castiel carefully positioned Dean’s sled, holding it steady while he climbed in, somewhat awkwardly due to his bulky garments. “Now hold to the rope, and--” With a push, he sent Dean flying down the slope. “See you at the bottom!”

Dean let out a shout as he sped downwards. Castiel laughed, climbing into his own sled and following after him, the wind rushing past his face as he soared towards the bottom of the hill. He trailed to a halt just behind Dean, then stood and helped him out of his sled. “So?” he asked eagerly.

Laughing, Dean shoved him playfully to the ground. “I’ll race you to the top!”

Castiel scrambled to his feet and chased after him, but Dean had a solid head start and reached the top before him, shooting Castiel a triumphant grin. “Oh, very well,” Castiel sniffed. “I guarantee you I can reach the bottom before you, though.”

“I’ll take that bet.” Dean climbed into his sled and pushed himself off with Castiel a split-second behind, but Castiel had the advantage of years of experience. He leaned forward as they sped down the slope, overtaking Dean and laughing at his shouted curse. 

They raced each other up and down the hill for over an hour, until even Castiel began to tire. “Truce?” he asked as they reached the top again. 

“Truce.” Dean extended his hand and pulled Castiel toward his sled. 

“Dean, what are you--”

Climbing inside, Dean pressed himself tightly against the curved wooden back of the sled and looked up at Castiel, a curious light in his eyes. “Please?” he said softly, gesturing to the space he had made in front of himself.

Castiel swallowed heavily. They were bundled in cloth and fur from head to toe, as safe from accidental touch as they were likely ever to be. Exhaling slowly, he settled into the sled, leaning back against Dean’s chest. Carefully, Dean’s arms came to wrap around him, holding him secure, and then they were off.

If he thought his heart had soared before, it was nothing compared to this feeling, being pressed so close to Dean while they flew through the air. Time seemed to stand still, the short trip to the bottom of the hill expanding into an eternity between one inhale and the next exhale. 

They reached the bottom, and Castiel turned his head, meeting Dean’s eyes. There were scant inches between their faces, and Dean’s cheeks were wonderfully pink from the cold, his eyes sparkling and his freckles stark against his cheeks. 

Before he could change his mind, Castiel reached out and placed his gloved hand against Dean’s cheek. Dean drew in a startled breath, his eyes slipping closed.

“I want to kiss you,” Castiel murmured. “Very badly.”

Dean’s eyes opened again, and he let out a tremulous sigh. “As do I,” he said softly. Reaching up, he drew Castiel’s hand down to press against his lips. “I wish--”

“I know.” Castiel smiled sadly at him. “As do I.”

They remained frozen in that position for a few minutes longer, as Castiel committed every aspect of the moment to memory: the particular green of Dean’s eyes in the sunlight, the smell of cold air and pine on the breeze, the creak of the sled beneath them. Finally, he dropped his hand with a shake of his head. “We should be heading back,” he said reluctantly. “If I keep you out here much longer, you may catch ill from entirely natural causes.”

“Right.” Dean blinked as though waking from a dream and pointed up to the top of the hill. “Your sled is still--”

“I’ll get it.” Castiel climbed out of the circle of Dean’s arms and stretched his arms over his head. “Wait here.”

He shook his head at his own folly as he climbed the hill one last time. It was a mistake to give in to the temptation of being near to Dean. If they let their guard down again, when they were not so well-protected, the results could be disastrous. He remembered the swift fire of the pain he had felt when they had touched those first few times, the way his stomach had cramped and his lungs had gone empty as it swept over him. As reassuring as it was to know that his desire was just as intensely reciprocated, it only made matters more complicated for both of them.

Castiel pulled the sled down behind him rather than sliding down the hill one last time. Dean was waiting for him, face set in serious lines, and before he could open his mouth, Castiel held up his hand. “We can’t--”

“I know,” Dean interrupted him. “It was--” He trailed off, shaking his head tightly. “It was a lapse of judgment. I cannot bear the thought of causing you that kind of pain again, Castiel.”

“We will be careful,” Castiel replied. But in Dean’s eyes, he saw the same apprehension that settled heavily in his heart.

The next week passed in a blur of council sessions, tours of the palace and surrounding areas, and precious nights curled beside Dean in their wide, warm bed. On the fourth day, Castiel was crowned in the Crystal Hall, taking up his rightful position as king of Hiemere. He could barely remember the ceremony, other than the piercing beauty of the room and the cheers that echoed from the high ceilings as he stood and waved to the assembled crowd.

The only thing that marred that otherwise perfect week was the cough that Dean developed on the sixth day. It started gently enough that it could be excused by a dry throat in the morning, but as the day wore on and it showed no sign of abating, Castiel’s heart sank in his chest. Their window of respite was drawing to a close, and far sooner than he would have liked.

“Sleep,” he told Dean that night, ushering him towards the bed though it was not yet late. “You’ll need the energy.”

Dean sighed but did as he was told. “I will feel better in the morning,” he insisted, though they both knew it was untrue.

“Of course you will.” Castiel smiled down at him, resisting the urge to reach out and tuck the cover more securely under his chin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to rest while I attend to other matters.”

Opening his mouth, likely to protest, Dean’s words died in a flurry of coughs. His head slumped back against the pillows and he waved a hand in the air as his eyes slipped closed. “You will return soon?”

Castiel nodded, heart like a stone in his chest. “As soon as I can.”

He shut the door quietly behind himself, then set off through the halls at a determined pace. His frustration was boiling in his veins, and there was only one place he knew he could find peace.

The temple was at the far edge of the palace grounds, a smaller structure than its Calornan counterpart but no less beautiful. Castiel exhaled deeply as he entered the dark, cold room of the sanctuary, the few flickering candles casting an eerie light over the ice sculptures that lined the walls. 

He made a slow circuit of the room, the familiar storyline playing out in the cold, glittering ice: the battle between Plenty and Void, Plenty’s triumph as Void was cast down and imprisoned beneath the mountains. At the end of the four walls, a winding staircase led down to the catacombs where Castiel’s ancestors rested, their bodies preserved in the frozen earth.

Michael rested among them now. Castiel laid his hand on the cold stone wall, hesitating on the first step. He ought to pay his respects, but it would feel insincere when his thoughts were not on the dead, but on the living. 

“You are troubled.” Castiel started at the sound of the voice from the dark corner of the sanctuary. A shadowy form emerged, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized Billie. “May I assist you, my king?”

“Please.” Castiel sank into a seated position, heedless of the cold stone below him. It grounded him, kept him focused and alert. Billie did the same, arranging her robes around her and gazing at him with wide, untroubled eyes.

“Tell me,” she said.

Castiel traced a slow pattern onto the floor, not meeting her eyes. “Dean is falling ill,” he said quietly. “Merely a cough, for now, but it will worsen before long.” He looked up and twisted his mouth into a smile that was more of a grimace. “It has not even been a full week.”

Billie laced her fingers together, face pensive. “If we accept your theory that it is the foreign environment that causes this sickness--” She trailed off, nodding slowly. “It is possible that King Dean’s strengthened ties to his own land have hastened the effects of the illness.”

Castiel blinked at her. “Apologies, my lady. I do not understand.”

She sighed, her voice taking on the tone she used when leading ceremonies, formal and commanding. “It is the struggle between our two lands that has kept them apart. As representatives of those lands, we also struggle being in the other, and this takes the form of physical illness. King Dean is deeply tied to his land, both through his royal blood and then through his oath of kingship. It is possible this deeper connection is accelerating the effects of the illness.”

Understanding dawned on Castiel, and with it, another uncomfortable thought. “Now that I have been crowned--”

“You might expect to see a similarly rapid decline, should you visit Calorna again.”

Castiel pushed himself to his feet, running his hands through his hair. “It isn’t fair,” he said under his breath. 

“No.” Billie’s voice was quiet, and he looked over shoulder to meet her compassionate gaze. “It is not.” She tilted her head to the side, considering him. “You have done a good thing, my king. Agreeing to this treaty, to this marriage. I am sorry that it has come at such a high personal cost to you.”

Sinking back to the ground in front of her, Castiel spread his hands helplessly before himself. “What do I do?” he asked. “Please, my lady, tell me what to do.”

She shook her head. “You can only do the best you can with the circumstances you have been given. There is wisdom in you, young as you are, and great strength. I believe you are being tested for a reason, Castiel, though I cannot yet see what that reason may be.”

“I should hate to think of my suffering as meaningless,” Castiel muttered archly.

Billie raised one eyebrow, her look suddenly stern. “And do not forget that you are not the only one who is suffering,” she added. At Castiel’s frown of incomprehension, she sighed and waved in the direction of the palace. “Go to him. Care for him while you can. We both know you will have to let him go, and soon.”

Chastened, Castiel stood and made her a deep, respectful bow. “Thank you, my lady.”

Her features softening, Billie smiled slightly. “I am always happy to be of service, my king. To you, and to the land.”

With another brief bow, Castiel left the temple, making his way quickly back towards the palace. Dean was sound asleep when he crept into their chambers, and Castiel undressed as quietly as he could, sliding slowly into bed beside him. Dean stirred but did not wake, and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. For one more night, at least, they could have this.

Dean was not better in the morning. Castiel had been expecting it, but it did not lessen the pain he felt when he woke to the sound of Dean’s coughing, to him pulling the blankets tightly around himself and curling into a ball in the centre of the bed. After several cups of hot tea and nourishing oats, he was steady enough to attend the day’s meetings, but Castiel knew the time had come for him to depart.

When they retired to their chamber that night, he stood at the door, trying to find the words. Before he could begin, Dean sank onto the edge of the bed and met his gaze steadily from across the room. “It’s time, isn’t it,” he said. 

Castiel let out a slow breath and crossed to crouch in front of him. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “If you stay any longer, you may become too ill to travel. You promised me, Dean, when you said you would come here with me. You promised me you would leave while you still could.”

“I know.” Dean smiled ruefully. “And yet now that the time has come, I find myself reluctant to depart.”

“I wish you could stay.” Castiel looked up at him, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the healthy fullness of his cheeks. He could not bear to see Dean waste away here, the way he himself had in Calorna. He was just beginning to regain some of the strength and energy he had lost during his own illness. “I would show you the same care and consideration you showed to me. But I swore to Sam I would send you home to him, whole and healthy.”

Dean frowned, then, his eyes narrowing. “When did you and Sam discuss this matter without me?”

Castiel shrugged, remembering that hushed conversation following Dean’s announcement that he would be accompanying Castiel to Hiemere. Sam’s persuasive charm falling away in face of his concern for his brother, his coolness towards Castiel vanishing in his desperation. “We have reached an understanding, Sam and I,” he said, evasive. “We share a concern for your well-being, and it is enough.”

“Hmn.” Dean still looked rather suspicious. “Am I to assume there were threats made against your own safety, should mine be compromised in any way?”

At that, Castiel grinned. “No. But they may have been implied.”

“Even at the risk of his precious treaty?” Dean let out a low whistle. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

“That is unfair,” Castiel chided him gently. “Your brother loves you, Dean. You should not take that lightly.”

Dean sighed, dropping his hands into his lap and looking down at them. “I know,” he said. “And he is right to worry, as are you. I can feel it”-- he lifted one hand and spread it across his chest-- “just here. A tightness. And an ache in my joints, like the first rumble of thunder before the storm erupts.”

Castiel yearned to reach out, to take Dean into his arms and comfort him with the warmth of his own body, but he held himself back. If he did so, it would be too easy to seek the press of Dean’s lips against his own, to chase the feeling of bare skin on bare skin. Better that they not allow themselves the chance for such things to occur.

“In the morning, then,” he said, meeting Dean’s eyes. “In the morning, you will depart.”

Dean closed his eyes, a shudder passing through his body. “Yes.”

There was a pause, a moment while they both considered the future that awaited them, and then Dean opened his eyes once more, shining with fierce determination. “If that is to be the case,” he said, “will you do something for me before then, husband?”

“Anything,” Castiel said. A reckless promise, but he trusted Dean.

A slow grin spread across Dean’s face as his eyes roved over Castiel’s face and body, scorching him with their intensity. “We may not be able to touch each other,” he murmured, “but there is nothing that prevents us from touching ourselves.”

All the blood in Castiel’s body rushed downwards, words failing him. He gaped at Dean, whose confident grin slowly faded as Castiel made no response. “Unless-- forgive me, I was too bold. We never--”

“No.” Castiel hastened to cut him off. “No, you misunderstand my silence. I--” He swallowed roughly, nearly letting out a groan at the mere thought of it. “I am awed by your cleverness, not shocked at your presumptuousness.”

Letting out a relieved sigh, Dean’s smile returned in full force. “So?” He leaned back slightly, one eyebrow raising. 

“Yes.” It was barely above a whisper, but no less fervent for it. “By all the powers, yes.”

Castiel scrambled to drag the large armchair closer to the bed as Dean began to pull his cloak over his head. They would need to keep some distance between themselves, and the chair would allow him to position himself for the best possible view. 

He was strung too tightly to bother making a show of removing his clothes. Fortunately, it seemed Dean was in the same state, pulling off his thick woolen trousers with an impatient grunt as they tangled around his ankles. Mere moments later, they were both naked, and only then did Castiel allow himself to look his fill.

Every gorgeous line of Dean’s body was on full display, the fire crackling in the hearth casting a warm glow over his exposed skin. He was turned slightly on his side, facing Castiel, one hip jutting forward in a beckoning manner. Castiel let out a shuddering breath and said, “I am the most fortunate of men.”

A pleased grin lit Dean’s features as his eyes travelled slowly down Castiel’s own body. “Strange. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“Even though we cannot--” Castiel gestured to the space between them.

Dean’s face turned solemn, eyes shadowed. “Castiel. I never expected to find myself married so suddenly, and it was to my great surprise that I found you an attractive husband. It was to my even greater surprise that I found myself wanting to touch you, not only with desire, but with affection. We cannot”-- he shrugged loosely, the muscles of his chest and shoulders rippling with the movement-- “but I would not trade this-- trade you-- for anything.”

Throat dry, Castiel could only nod. He was aching with need, and though his own hands could never compare to the certain bliss of Dean’s touch, it would be enough. Licking his lips, he slowly trailed one hand down the centre of his chest, feeling Dean’s eyes follow its path. “I want to know how your hands would feel on me,” he confessed, voice low. “Rough, I imagine. Callused from years of holding a sword.”

“I imagine yours the same.” Dean was moving his hands across his own chest, barely brushing across his nipples. Castiel watched every minute movement that he made, cataloguing them for the unlikely day he might be able to replicate them himself. “But gentle. Soft.”

“Yes,” Castiel whispered. He rested one hand low on his torso, right above the base of his cock, and pressed down slightly. He was fully aroused, but he wanted to make this last, so he brought his hands upwards again, tracing over the lines of his hips. “You might hold me here. Dig your thumbs in while you smiled down at me.”

“While I kissed the side of your neck. It is bewitching, did you know?” Dean tilted his head to the side, exposing the rather tempting expanse of his own neck. “Is it sensitive?”

“Yes.” Castiel ran the tips of two fingers down the column of his neck and shivered at the sensation that spread all through his body. “Very much so.” He repeated the movement, slower this time, luxuriating in the feel of Dean’s eyes on him as he did. “And you? Where are you sensitive?”

“Here.” Dean rolled one nipple between his fingers, gasping back an oath. “And here.” His hands skated over the soft-looking skin on his inner thighs. 

Castiel bit back a groan, imagining running his lips over those same spots. Teasing Dean with his mouth so close to his groin, so close to where he was hard and flushed with need. Taking him down to the root and feeling the weight of him on his tongue, feeling Dean’s hands thread through his hair as his breathing became unsteady. 

He could resist it no longer. He wrapped one hand around his aching cock, head falling against the back of the chair in relief. Dean let out a shaky moan and did the same, both of them keeping their pace slow, watching each other. Castiel noted the way Dean twisted his wrist, the way he added an occasional faster stroke to jolt himself out of his rhythm. He could hear the slick slide of skin against skin and the increasing harshness of their breath. 

It was impossible to decide where to look: at the rosy head of Dean’s cock as it appeared and disappeared under his hand, or at his face, his lower lip caught between his teeth as a hiss of pleasure escaped him. “It has been a long time,” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “I may not--”

Castiel nodded slowly. “It has been difficult to find a moment alone, has it not? Tell me, Dean.” He dropped his voice impossibly low, slowing the movements of his hand. “Did you think about it? Not when I was ill, but before. When we were sleeping apart, did your hands stray? Did you catch yourself just in time, then pass a frustrated night alone with your desire?” He smiled, then. “I know I did.”

“Castiel--” Dean’s eyes were wide and glassy, his shoulders tense. “Please, keep talking.”

“Especially on our wedding night,” he continued. “You looked so striking that day, Dean. I could not take my eyes off you. And as satisfied as I was with our marriage, I could not help but wonder what it would be like were it more conventional, were we able to mark the occasion in a more traditional manner. I lay awake, sticky with sweat not only from the heat but from my lurid imaginings.” He let his eyes roam over the expanse of Dean’s skin, the freckles that dotted his body and the fine golden hairs glinting in the firelight. “I see now that they fell far short of the wondrous reality of you.”

Dean’s hand was flying quickly over his erection now, his lower body shifting against the mattress as he visibly strained towards climax. “Let me see you now,” Castiel implored him. “Let me have this memory of you in utter bliss to carry with me, so that I may revisit it when we are apart and my hands are all I have.”

With a soft cry, Dean reached his peak, curling in on himself as he spilled over his own hand. Castiel groaned at the sight and redoubled his own efforts, stroking himself with increasing speed. He could feel the tension coiling low in his belly, nearly at its breaking point. 

He panted harshly as he swept his eyes over Dean’s body, relaxed now, wishing he could feel the press of it against his own. Wishing he could learn every inch of it, sink inside it, feel the warmth that radiated from Dean surround him in the most profound way.

As though reading his thoughts, Dean’s eyes flew open and locked on Castiel’s, and he was lost to the crashing wave of his pleasure. 

They stared at one another in the aftermath, as their bodies loosened and slumped bonelessly without the tension keeping them upright. “Well,” Dean said eventually, with a breathless laugh, “never let it be said that we have not made the best of our situation.”


	10. Chapter 10

Dean rested his forearms on the parapet, gazing towards the mountains. The sun was slowly sinking off to his left, the scarlet rays fading to soft rose and gold as they streaked through the sky. On the other side of those mountains, he knew, his husband gazed out on a snow-covered landscape, the last brilliant beams of light sparkling over the frozen river.

Sighing, Dean sunk lower into his pose. He missed Castiel with a fierce ache that startled him with its intensity. It had only been a week since he had left Hiemere, a week that they had been apart, but it felt like an eternity.

“Your Majesty?”

Turning, Dean saw one of the guards standing hesitantly on the stairs. He waved her forward. “Yes?”

“Your meeting with Lady Rowena, my lord. At sundown?” 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, of course.” He managed a polite smile for the guard, who he did not recognize. “Thank you. I will be along shortly.”

She smiled back, then nearly tripped over her own feet attempting to back down the stairs. Dean bit back a laugh and abandoned his brooding to steady her, gripping her by the shoulder so she could regain her balance. Her cheeks flushed, but she accepted his aid, and together they made their way back down into the castle, Dean casting one wistful look over his shoulder as they did.

Rowena was waiting for him in one of the smaller, comfortable audience chambers. She rose as he approached and offered a small but graceful curtsey. “Your Majesty.”

“My lady.” Dean bowed and waved her to a seat as two attendants quietly poured them each a glass of apple wine. “I trust you are well?”

“Indeed.” Rowena raised her glass to her lips and took a sip, never breaking eye contact. “And you?”

There was something knowing in her tone, something that stopped the polite reply on Dean’s lips. “I am physically recovered from my brief illness,” he said instead. He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “But otherwise--”

“I am sorry for the difficulties of your situation,” she said softly. “Perhaps a distraction will help?”

“Perhaps.” Dean leaned forward, setting his wine aside. “Did you have something particular in mind?”

“Yes. We need to discuss the way forward for Calorna and its people.”

Dean tensed for a moment, then forced himself to relax. As High Priestess, Rowena’s standing in the kingdom was nearly equal to his own. More than that, she was wise and subtle and devoted, and he knew he could trust her judgment. 

“You have my attention,” he said.

A brief smile lit her features. “I thought I might.” She paused to take another sip of her wine, eyes thoughtful over the top of the glass. “You can feel it, can’t you? The expectation in the air? The sense of the kingdom holding its collective breath, waiting to exhale?”

“Yes.” Dean nodded slowly. He felt it every time he walked through the castle, in the way the courtiers, guards, and attendants alike followed him with their eyes as though waiting for him to stop and make some grand pronouncement that very minute. “It’s as though we are all dreaming, and we know that any minute we might wake up.”

Rowena shook her head. “But it is not a dream. And it is time we accepted that, and dealt with it.”

“We have made our visit to Hiemere,” Dean said. “And they have done the same. The boldest among our merchants have begun to cross the mountains. What else do you suggest we do?”

“There are many others to consider, but I believe we ought to begin with the soldiers.”

Dean instinctively glanced upwards to where he knew Sam and Kevin were secreted away in their office. Thus far, they had said nothing about disbanding the army, and had continued to train the guards and soldiers every day. “Go on.”

Rowena settled her skirts more comfortably around herself and swept her hair away from her face. “The temple has long suffered due to the war,” she said bluntly. “It used to be a place of contemplation, of community, of sanctuary to those who needed it. But over the years, those who might have considered joining the ranks of its attendants have found themselves serving in the army instead.”

It made a certain amount of sense. Under his father’s rule, Calorna had become more militarized than ever. Dean knew better than most how devoted his father had been to the war effort, and how other areas of the kingdom might have suffered for that devotion. 

“And now you wish to see them serve in the temple instead?” he asked, raising one eyebrow at her. 

“Only those who wish it,” she replied with a quick shake of her head. “We have won not only peace, Your Majesty, but a measure of freedom. I believe some of the soldiers will find surprising common ground in temple life, the community and the structure and even”-- a glimmer of humour sparkled in her eyes-- “the hierarchy.” 

Laughing, Dean nodded. “You make a convincing argument. But I believe this is something that must be first discussed with my brother, and then with the soldiers on an individual basis.”

“Of course.” Rowena rose to her feet and inclined her head graciously. “I merely wished to plant the idea in your mind. We have many people to tend to in this time of change, Your Majesty.”

There was a gentle rebuke in her tone, and Dean winced at it. It was true that he had been somewhat preoccupied over the past week, caught up in his own concerns, but not any longer. There was work to be done, work that he had accepted when he had been crowned king.

“Thank you for your counsel,” he said as he made Rowena a formal bow. “As always, I welcome and appreciate it.”

“I doubt that,” she replied drily. “But even kings must be humbled on occasion.” She curtsied again, then swept out of the room, skirts rustling behind her.

Dean sat back down and picked up his wine, sipping thoughtfully. It would be good to see the temple restored to its full glory, even if he could not remember what that might look like. And Rowena made an excellent point: Calorna had many soldiers in need of new occupations. But that was Sam’s domain, not his, and he knew his brother well enough to know he would resent any intrusion into the running of the army without proper consultation. 

Raising his head, he penned a swift note and summoned an attendant forward with a wave of his hand. “Please deliver this to Prince Sam,” he instructed. “Thank you.”

Glancing out the window, Dean saw that it was full dark. It was too late tonight for much else to be done, but tomorrow, he vowed, he would begin anew. His was not the only life that had been changed in the past few months, and perhaps if he buried himself in the work of helping his people adapt to their new circumstances, he could ease the ache that lingered in his chest every time he thought of Castiel’s face.

“I received your note,” Sam said briskly, striding into Dean’s chambers the next morning. “You wished to speak to me?”

“I did.” Dean stood up and stretched his arms over his head, glancing out the window. It was a beautiful morning, the sun shining brightly and the curtains fluttering in the soft breeze. “Will you take a walk to the market with me?”

Sam frowned. “What do you need at the market that you cannot have fetched for you?”

Dean shook his head. “Please. Trust me.”

Sighing, Sam pulled his hair back from his face and bound it with the strip of leather he wore constantly around his wrist. “Very well.”

In the corridor, Benny and Charlie fell into step behind them but left enough distance to give Sam and Dean some semblance of privacy. “What is this about?” Sam asked again as they exited the castle through the southern gate. “You’re acting very strange.”

“I know.” Dean clapped him on the back and guided him along the smooth road that led down from the castle to the nearby town. “I promise, I will tell you soon enough. I just wanted to be outside the castle.”

Sam cast him a suspicious look, but his questions subsided. They walked the rest of the way to town in silence, though Dean could read his brother’s curiosity in the way he held his shoulders. 

As soon as they entered the market square, Sam rounded on him. “Explain.”

Dean nodded and drew in a deep breath. “Look around you,” he said. “What do you see?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, but he did as instructed. “I see the market. I see people selling their wares, trading goods and services, conversing with friends and strangers alike.”

“Precisely.” Dean swept his hand around to indicate the crowds. “This is Calorna, Sam. All these people, and so many more. In some ways, their lives have changed very little since we ended the war. But in others--” He trailed off with a shrug. “There is more joy in the air, can you feel it? No need to bargain for a better price on grains, always wondering if your supplies will run low if we are besieged. No need to visit the blacksmith for new weapons to have hidden in your home in case of invasion.”

Relaxing, Sam nodded. “Yes. I can feel it.”

Dean caught the eye of a pretty girl at a nearby stall and winked at her, causing her to blush. Smiling to himself, he began a slow tour of the square, guiding Sam along by the elbow. “And when you are on the training grounds with your troops, do you feel joy there too?”

He felt Sam stiffen as he whirled to glare at him. “Dean--” he said warningly.

Dean held up his hands, taking a step back. “Please. Sam, just listen to me.”

Sam’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. Letting out a sigh of relief, Dean moved forward once more. “We have far more soldiers than we have need for now,” he said, keeping his voice as neutral as he could. “Many of them have never known any other life, but now is their chance to do so.”

“I know,” Sam said, voice softer. “We have discussed this before, Dean.”

Dean shook his head. “Not in enough detail. We cannot go on pretending nothing has changed, looking over our shoulders as though waiting for the treaty to be broken. It demonstrates a lack of faith in what we have accomplished.”

Sam gave him a slow, sidelong look. “True,” he acknowledged. “So what are you suggesting?”

“You know the troops better than anyone.” Dean swallowed roughly, thinking of all the times Sam had ridden off into battle without him, all the times he had lain awake at night wondering if his brother would ever return home. “I am asking you to consult with them, to find out their wishes. If they wish to remain, good. If they do not”-- he shrugged-- “to determine how to help them find their joy.”

“Of course.” Sam nodded. “You are correct. Some of them will want to stay. But others will not.”

Dean drew in a deep breath. It was time to address the real question, the one that had prompted him to send that note to Sam the night before. “And you?” he asked quietly. “Where will you find your joy, Sam?”

Sam stumbled slightly, then came to a sudden halt. Dean drew him aside, away from the crush of the square into a smaller street. “Are you dismissing me?” Sam asked, voice hoarse. “Is that what this is about? You wish to disband the army, to remove me from my position?”

Dean cursed himself for his clumsiness. “No,” he said firmly. “Not at all.” He blew out a noisy breath and leaned against the sun-warmed brick of the building beside them. “I had an interesting conversation with Rowena last night.”

Blinking, Sam shook his head. “I don’t follow.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean said, “Do you remember when you were, oh, perhaps seven or so, what you told me about how you saw your future?”

“No.” Sam came to join him, tipping his head back against the wall. “But I sense you’re about to remind me.”

Reaching out, Dean gave him a gentle shove. “Indeed. You told me you wanted to devote yourself to the study of ancient texts, to become a priest. Perhaps even High Priest one day.”

Sam looked away, but not before Dean caught the stricken look on his face. “That was a long time ago.”

“I know,” Dean said softly. “Within two years, you were training with the soldiers every day. When you turned thirteen and were already taller than me, Father was so pleased. An heir and a commander, he said.”

“That I do remember.” Sam gave a bitter laugh. “I was so proud to have pleased him.”

“But what of yourself?” Dean asked carefully. “Sam-- you have worked wonders. Not only in the field, but behind closed doors with Kevin. We could not have arrived at this alliance without you. But now that we have, is this truly what you want for yourself? What is a general without a war?”

“I do not know,” Sam replied. He looked up and met Dean’s eyes with a rueful smile. “I suppose I have been trying to avoid answering that question.”

“Rowena told me yesterday that the temple lacks attendants,” Dean continued. “That it has fallen from its former state of glory, that she believes some of the soldiers may find peace within its walls.” Reaching out, he laid a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Might you be one of them?”

Sam shook his head slowly. “I do not know,” he repeated. For a moment, he looked a mere youth again. “It was a childish dream that I was forced to grow out of. And I do not regret the years that I have spent leading our armies.”

“Nor should you,” Dean said swiftly. “That is not at all what I am suggesting. You have done your duty, and you have done it well. But, Sam--” He hesitated, not wanting to offend. “You have been forced to make difficult choices. To bear the burden of responsibility.”

“Yes.” Sam’s eyes turned dark. “And sometimes, I have frightened myself with the choices I have made. The things I have said or done.”

They fell silent for a moment, and Dean knew they were both remembering that argument at Castiel’s bedside, the dispassionate nature of Sam’s concern for his well-being. 

“It would be a welcome relief, to walk away from those burdens,” Sam said after a moment. “Though I do not think I could easily give up all responsibility.”

“No,” Dean agreed, giving him a wry smile. “Your shoulders are far too broad to be wasted.”

Laughing, Sam shook his head and pushed off from the wall. “I will think on it. If Rowena says they need assistance in the temple, perhaps both my childhood dream and my current desire to serve my kingdom can be satisfied.”

Dean grinned and clapped a hand on his back, guiding him back out into the market. “Good. Now, all this talking has left me thirsty. I believe there is a stall with some excellent juices here.”

They made a slow circuit of the market, all the vendors and buyers clearly delighted to see them. Dean took time to speak to all who approached him, and Sam did the same, engaging in lively discussions about the wares and the prospect of trading with Hiemere. Eventually, though, they were forced to politely disengage, with promises to return as soon as they were able.

“Thank you,” Sam said as they left the town behind them. “I needed that, in a way I did not even realize.”

Dean turned to him, smiling. “I told you to trust me.”

“I do.” Sam shook his head slowly. “I always have, but Dean--” He trailed off, looking thoughtful. “You’ve changed, somehow.”

Dean paused, startled. “Changed?”

“Matured,” Sam amended. “Perhaps it is the crown. Or perhaps”-- he laughed, looking down-- “perhaps it is your marriage.”

“What could that possibly have to do with anything?” Dean asked, perplexed. As far as he knew, Sam disapproved of Castiel on a personal level, even though he had thrown the two of them together for political reasons. But then, Castiel had said he and Sam had come to an understanding...

“The simple fact of expanding your life to include another person in that way surely changes someone,” Sam explained. “And considering the circumstances, I imagine you and Castiel had to do a great deal of polite negotiating.” He grinned then, teasing. “You were more tactful today than I could ever have predicted, Dean.”

Only slightly stung by the implication that he normally lacked tact, Dean grinned back. “I am pleased to know I can still surprise you after all these years.”

“I look forward to being surprised again in the future.” Sam reached up to gather back a few strands of hair that had fallen loose. “And to spending more time with your husband.”

“Truly?” Dean had almost given up hope of Sam and Castiel being easy in each other’s presence, though it was something he greatly desired.

“Truly.” Sam shrugged guiltily. “If I am beginning a new chapter of my life, perhaps I can do so with a more open mind. One less given to seeing him only as a tool to be employed.”

“I would like that very much,” Dean said softly. “Very much indeed.”

“When will he next be visiting us, do you know?” There was compassion in Sam’s eyes now, causing Dean’s throat to tighten as he shook his head.

“I do not know. I will write to him, though, when we return to the castle. I have been missing him.”

Reaching out, Sam squeezed his shoulder. “I cannot say I am sorry for suggesting this match,” he said quietly. “Especially when it has brought our kingdom peace, and you happiness. I only wish it did not also bring you this pain.”

Dean had often found himself wishing the same thing. Wishing he and Castiel might have a normal marriage, one in which they could share a home, a bed, the simple joy of touch. But Sam was right-- their marriage involved so much more than the two of them, and Dean could not regret it either, despite its difficulties. 

“The joy and the pain together are what make it what it is,” he said. He looked north, towards the mountains, and remembered the brightness behind Castiel’s eyes when they had said their farewells the week before. “Without the one, the other would be lesser.”


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel strolled through the halls of the palace, Bianca nipping playfully at his heels. He reached down to pet the fox’s pointed ears as she pushed her nose against his palm. It was cold to the touch, and he laughed as he pulled his hand away. It had been Jack’s idea to raise the abandoned fox kits found crouched in the shadows of the gate one morning, and Bianca had barely left Castiel’s side since. It was pleasant, having a constant companion, especially one as mischievous as she was. 

He wondered how Dean would react to her. He had mentioned her in his letters, of course, but they had not yet had the chance to meet. It had been three weeks since Castiel had last left Calorna, and Dean was due to make a trip to Hiemere shortly. In the four months since their wedding, they had organized a schedule that allowed them to fulfill their duties to their respective kingdoms while also spending as much time together as possible. 

It was not enough-- far from it-- but it was what they had, and the now-steady stream of messengers and traders who crossed the mountains allowed them to maintain a lively correspondence even when they could not be in each other’s physical presence. 

Castiel paused at the grand staircase, debating venturing outside for a stroll or returning to his chambers to curl up in front of the fire with a book. Bianca trotted up the steps and turned to look back at him, yipping imperiously. Clearly, she had no desire to leave the comforts of her new home. Smiling to himself, Castiel moved towards the stairs, but was stopped by the sound of rapid footsteps approaching.

“Your Majesty.” Hael, one of the palace attendants, bobbed a brief curtsey as she reached him. “The messenger from Calorna has returned and requests your presence.”

Frowning, Castiel turned to follow her. Rufus rarely bothered to make a personal report after one of his trips to Calorna, preferring to pass any information or letters he had gathered along to the palace attendants and then retire in solitude until he left on his next journey over the mountains. Bianca let out a small, sad noise, and Castiel bent to scoop her up in his arms before following after Hael. 

She led them to one of the small rooms just inside the main gate and pushed the door open. “I will remain here if you require me,” she murmured, curtseying again. Castiel gave her an absentminded nod and entered the room, meeting Rufus’ direct gaze as he did.

“We have a problem,” Rufus said. 

Castiel tensed, still clutching Bianca to his chest as though she might somehow protect him from whatever news Rufus was about to deliver. A sudden thought struck him, and he dropped heavily into a chair, the breath leaving his lungs in a gasp. “Dean-- the king-- is he?”

“Your Dean is fine,” Rufus replied gruffly. He scratched a hand over his head and nodded at the stack of letters on the table in front of him. “See for yourself. But first--” He leaned against the edge of the table, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. “Something is happening in the mountains.”

Relief flooded through Castiel’s body, confusion following in its wake. He put Bianca down and watched her run through the room for a minute before turning back to Rufus. “What do you mean?”

Drawing out another chair, Rufus sat, folding his arms on the table. “I have been crossing those mountains for longer than you have been alive,” he said. “This will sound absurd, I know, but you must trust me.”

“I do.” Castiel leaned forward, heart racing. “I have every confidence in you.”

Letting out a deep breath, Rufus said, “There is a new path through the mountains.”

Castiel blinked, then sat back in his chair. He had not been expecting that, somehow. “A new path?”

Rufus nodded tightly. “Yes. Right at the top of the pass, just before the descent into Calorna, I noticed it. A trail leading eastwards, descending very gradually.”

“Did you follow it?” Castiel asked, intrigued.

“Only for a few minutes. I did not think it wise to explore much further on my own.” Rufus shrugged. “And I thought you ought to hear this news quickly.”

“Yes.” Castiel nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. Had anyone else brought him this news, he would likely have disregarded it, assuming the path had always been there and never before noticed. But as Rufus had pointed out, he had been travelling across the mountains for decades. He knew that route better than any other, and if he said this eastward trail was a new development, Castiel had no choice but to believe him.

The geography of their land had always been simple: Calorna to the south, Hiemere to the north, and the mountains between them. There was nothing else. There was only the one pass through the mountains, the rest of the peaks impossible to negotiate. But this new information suggested that there might be something else there, a chance to finally venture beyond that one pass. It was both thrilling and disturbing to consider.

“When can you be ready to depart once more?” he asked abruptly. At his feet, Bianca’s ears flicked up at the sound of his voice.

“Tomorrow?” Rufus said, shrugging. “There’s no sense attempting to leave now. Should I assemble a squadron to accompany me?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head. This news did not affect only them. “I would like you to draw us a map with the exact location of this new path marked clearly. Then I would like you to return to Calorna and tell King Dean exactly what you have told me. We will meet at this place in three days’ time, and we will venture east together.”

Rufus’ eyes narrowed. “You mean to accompany us?”

“Yes,” Castiel said firmly. “And I will request the High Priestess’ company as well. It may be nothing, just an old trail revealed by shifting rocks. Or it may be of greater significance. Either way, it is worth investigating.” 

“Very well.” Rufus rose to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. Something popped in his back, and Castiel winced in sympathy. “I will have that map sent to you soon, and I will leave again in the morning.”

“Thank you.” Castiel stood as well and offered him a courteous nod. Just as Rufus reached the door, he called after him. “And please-- do not mention this to anyone else. Not until we have a fuller understanding of the situation.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Your Majesty,” Rufus replied with a shake of his head. “I can keep a secret.”

With that, he left Castiel alone with his thoughts.

All his life, there were certain truths that had guided the flow of events in Hiemere. They lived in a land of cold and ice. They were at war with Calorna. The mountains stood between them, a physical reminder of the differences that separated them. 

And now those truths were crumbling before his very eyes. He had helped bring about the end of the war. It stood to reason, then, that other things he had long taken as eternal might be changed. But the physical reality of the world? Could it truly be affected by the peace he and Dean had married to ensure?

Bianca nudged her head against his ankle, startling him. Bending down, he picked her up once more and held her close to his chest. She licked his cheek, and he smiled despite his troubled thoughts. There was little sense dwelling on the possibilities now. In three days, they would know more.

And in three days, he would see Dean again.

The red and gold banners were the first things Castiel saw as they reached the top of the mountain pass, snapping in the breeze. He pressed his heels to his horse’s sides and surged forward, a smile spreading across his face. No matter the circumstances, he could not help the joy he felt as Dean’s face came into view, smiling broadly at him as he crested the rise.

“Well met,” Dean called out, trotting forward. 

“Well met indeed,” Castiel replied. All too aware of the eyes on them, he offered his gloved hand to Dean, who clasped it tightly between his own. It was one of the only safe ways for them to demonstrate their affection, and their audience would think them merely being polite in the restraint of their greeting. Castiel longed to pull Dean down from his horse, to sweep him up in his arms and kiss him senseless, audience be damned, but that was a wish that would never become reality. 

They had only slipped once over the months of their marriage. Swept up in the excitement of a reunion much like this, Dean had grabbed for Castiel’s hand to help him down from his horse, and Castiel had not pulled back in time. Brief as the contact between them had been, the pain had flared bright, leaving them both gasping for breath. Since then, their cautiousness had doubled.

Reluctantly, Castiel dragged his eyes away from the warm light of Dean’s and inspected his travelling companions. Along with Dean and Rufus, he saw Sam, Rowena, Charlie, and Victor, all watching them with enough interest to bring a flush to his cheeks. Clearing his throat, Castiel said, “Thank you all for coming.”

“There was no way we would consent to being left behind,” Rowena replied archly. Looking over Castiel’s shoulder, she inclined her head graciously in Billie’s direction. “I am pleased to see you again, my lady.”

A rare smile broke over Billie’s face. “And I you.” She directed her horse towards Rowena’s and they fell into a quiet conversation as the rest of the group exchanged polite greetings.

After a moment, Dean raised one hand to draw their attention back to him. “I believe we ought to proceed.” He nodded politely at Rufus. “Would you care to lead the way, Sergeant Turner?”

“That would be wise,” Rufus said. Turning his horse, he raised his hand and pointed to the east. “There, you see?”

Castiel leaned forward in his saddle and followed the path of Rufus’ finger. He sucked in a startled breath as he registered the gap in the rocks, barely wide enough for one horse to pass through. He never would have spotted it had he not already been looking.

“I see,” he said quietly. He turned and gave Rufus a respectful half-bow, impressed at his sharp eyesight. “We will follow after you.”

Rufus guided his horse forward without pausing. There was an awkward moment as the rest of the group waited to see who would go next, and then Sam pushed his hair out of his eyes and moved after Rufus. Charlie followed, then Dean, and with a sudden burst of anxiety, Castiel urged his horse down the trail before anyone could come between him and Dean.

They were quiet as they followed Rufus along the narrow, rocky path. It wound around jagged boulders, gravel crunching beneath their horses’ hooves. They kept the pace slow, though the slope was gradual, as none of them had any desire to go rushing headlong into unknown territory. After about ten minutes, Rufus held up one hand and twisted to look over his shoulder.

“This is as far as I came,” he said, voice pitched low. Craning his neck to the side, Castiel could see the trail bending around a large cluster of stone, but could not determine how much further it went. “Do we proceed?”

Dean turned and looked at him, eyes wide. Castiel shrugged and said, “We’ve come this far already. We may as well proceed. But cautiously.”

There was a faint rasp as Sam drew his sword and held it ready in his hand. Castiel’s own hand drifted to the knife in his belt, reassuring himself it was still there, and then they moved forward once more.

As they made their slow, careful descent, Castiel gradually became aware of the air growing warmer. As far as he could tell, they were travelling due east, and the heat of Calorna should not have reached them here. “Do you feel that?” he said, keeping his voice low. “It’s getting--”

“Warmer,” Dean finished, turning back to look at him. “But gently.”

Castiel nodded. It was nothing like the overwhelming heat of Calorna. He tugged his cloak free of his shoulders and draped it across the saddle in front of himself, enjoying the rare freedom of bare arms. Glancing up, he caught Dean staring at the exposed skin of his forearms and squashed the answering jolt of desire that ran through him. This was neither the time nor the place to act on such impulses, as skilled as they had become at doing just so over the past few months. They both knew well how to make exquisite torture out of their inability to touch, and under other circumstances they would be celebrating their reunion in just that way. 

For now, they had other, more pressing concerns.

Castiel reached down and grabbed the flask of water that hung from his saddle. He drank deeply, the cool liquid quenching both his thirst and his desire. With a rueful grin, he tossed it to Dean, who caught it with effortless grace. “Thank you, husband,” he said, pressing a hand to his heart. “You always take such excellent care of me.”

At that, Castiel smiled. “I am only following your example,” he replied.

“Powers,” Charlie said, turning to look back at them. “Are you always so ridiculous when newly reunited?”

“Yes.” There was not a trace of shame in Dean’s voice as he replied. “And proud of it. Your envy is showing, Charlie.”

She scoffed, but the flush of pink in her cheeks indicated that Dean may have scored a hit. Castiel shook his head in amusement as Charlie launched into the tale of her pursuit of one of the other guards, the enigmatic Dorothy, and let the combined sound of her voice and the building warmth of the day sweep him away to a state of relaxation.

Only moments later, that peace was shattered by a sharp whistle from Rufus. Castiel’s horse pranced underneath him, and he soothed her with a gentle hand on her neck. He could see Dean reach for the sword at his waist, and his own hand drifted back to his knife as he tensed, eyes scanning the rocks around them for signs of movement.

“Skies above,” Rufus said, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. “Forward, all of you.”

He sounded more awed than afraid, so Castiel relaxed his grip on his knife as he nudged his horse forward. A few steps ahead, the path widened enough for him to draw up beside Dean, and so they rounded the corner and took in the scene before them at the very same moment.

The rocky path came to a sudden halt as the slope evened out into a low, grass-covered valley. Bunches of colourful wildflowers decorated the landscape, and off to their right, a burbling stream ran down from the rocks and twisted its way across the valley. Low shrubs and blossoming trees offered sanctuary from the golden rays of the sun and filled the air with a soft, pleasant fragrance.

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. It was beautiful, and utterly foreign. He didn’t even have the proper words to describe it. He had never seen anything like this place, and judging by Dean’s soft, wide eyes, neither had he. 

“What is this place?” Charlie asked softly. She trotted forward and swung down from her horse, crouching to touch a trembling hand to the grass. “This is--”

“This is new.” Billie’s voice was quiet, but there was a note to it Castiel had never heard before. One of uncertainty. “Lady Rowena, have you ever--”

“Never,” Rowena answered before Billie could even finish speaking. She dismounted as well, her white robe trailing behind her as she swiftly crossed towards the stream. Reaching down, she cupped the water in her palm and poured it back into the stream with a slight frown creasing her brow. “Never have I heard mention of this place.”

“I told you it was new,” Rufus grunted. He remained on his horse, looking for all the world like he would rather return to Hiemere now that his story had been confirmed. “But what is it?”

No one could provide an answer. Sheathing his sword, Sam leapt down from his horse and surveyed the valley, every inch the general once more. “Spread out and investigate,” he ordered. “Stay within sight, and stay with a partner.”

Dean threw him a salute that looked only half-mocking and turned to Castiel expectantly. “Shall we?”

Walking through that valley with Dean by his side felt like the most impossibly beautiful dream. As instructed, they remained within sight, and yet it felt as though there was no one else in the world but the two of them beneath the cloudless blue sky. Drawing in a deep breath, Castiel closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun chased by the slightest hint of a cool breeze. He had never felt so comfortable, so different from the excessive cold of Hiemere or heat of Calorna. 

“How is this real?” he wondered aloud. “How could we not have known of this place’s existence?”

Dean shook his head slowly, looking back over his shoulder to where Billie had joined Rowena by the stream, the two of them absorbed in a lively conversation. “If anyone has answers, it will be them,” he said. “As for me”-- he shrugged, a soft smile lighting his features-- “I am too amazed to ask questions quite yet.”

Bending down, he plucked a small golden flower and offered it to Castiel with a crooked grin. “I hope I will not be punished for doing that,” he said. “But I wanted you to have this.”

Castiel’s heart leapt in his chest as he accepted the flower from Dean’s hand, careful not to let their fingers brush. He had removed his gloves due to the warmth, though Dean kept his own. He tucked the flower behind his ear, and Dean’s smile slipped for just a moment as something else flashed across his face, something raw and intense enough to make Castiel’s heart leap again. Biting down on his lip, Dean lifted his hand once more, then let it drop. “Castiel--”

Whatever he had been about to say was lost to Sam’s shout. Turning away, Dean’s shoulders straightened as he strode across the valley towards his brother. Castiel stared after him, a mournful ache in his chest, and then followed.

“There are no signs of habitation,” Sam announced as they gathered around him. “I heard some birdsong, but could not identify the birds themselves.”

Castiel reached up and brushed his fingers over the flower tucked behind his ear. “The flowers are unknown to me as well,” he said. 

Sam’s eyes flicked to the golden blossom, then down to Castiel’s face. For an instant, a smile lit his eyes, and then his brisk voice resumed. “As the path to this valley was first discovered by Sergeant Turner”-- he turned and nodded in Rufus’ direction-- “it falls under the control of Hiemere.”

“No.” Castiel immediately shook his head. “No, we will not lay claim to it. Let it be neutral territory. After all”-- he looked over at Dean and smiled-- “our lands are meant to be joined, now. Let this valley belong to all of us.”

“It already does.” Billie’s voice was low, but all eyes turned in her direction at the sound of it. “Lady Rowena and I have been discussing the strangeness of this place. We believe--” She trailed off with a sigh. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. If we are to explain this properly, we may be here for some time.”

A chill of foreboding crept up Castiel’s spine, but he nodded. They sat themselves on the soft grass and unpacked the provisions they had brought with them. If not for the grim looks on Billie and Rowena’s faces, it would have felt like the most idyllic of picnics. Without even realizing it, Castiel settled himself as close to Dean as he dared, seeking comfort in his proximity. Dean offered him a small smile, but it was clear from the shadow behind his eyes that he too had felt the change in the atmosphere, the nervousness that fell upon the day like a grey cloud.

Once they were seated, Billie cleared her throat and lifted her hands before her. “You are all familiar with the tale of Being and its division, the resulting war between Plenty and Void.”

Glancing around, Castiel saw the others nod. “What you may not be as familiar with,” Billie continued, “is the prophecy that this war has not yet ended.”

Castiel shifted uneasily. In front of him, Charlie let out a small noise of surprise. “A prophecy?” she echoed.

“Yes,” Rowena answered. She exchanged an unreadable look with Billie before continuing. “It has long been foretold that when Plenty cast Void down below these very mountains, it was not a decisive victory but only a temporary triumph. Void has been imprisoned, it is true, but not entirely defeated.”

“Neither can be defeated, can they?” Sam’s voice was soft, pensive. He frowned as he leaned forward, but his eyes sparkled with interest. “If either triumphs entirely over the other-- the balance is disturbed.”

Rowena smiled at him, her grim expression slipping. “Yes. You are correct, my prince. Your time studying with us has not been wasted, I see.”

Castiel turned to Dean and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. It was the first he had heard of Sam studying with the High Priestess, but Dean shook his head tightly. That discussion would have to wait.

“It is exactly that sort of disturbance we fear.” Billie picked up smoothly where Rowena had left off. “For as long as we have known, Plenty has held the advantage. Our very lands are testament to Plenty’s influence-- the extremes of our climates and the stark differences between them.”

In a flash, Castiel understood. “And this is quite literally middle ground,” he said. He waved his hand at the valley around them. “Between our two lands both in geography and in temperament, so to speak.”

“Yes.” Rowena shook her head, her bright hair glistening in the sun. “When you and King Dean married, you forged a bond between what were once two opposing elements. Calorna and Hiemere, once distinct, now begin to blur. The mountains that have stood between them have been altered.”

“Please.” Dean held up a hand, shaking his head slowly. “You are saying that somehow, our marriage affected the very landscape? That we _created_ this place?” He looked at Castiel askance. “Forgive me, my lord, but as meaningful as our partnership has proven, both politically and personally, I have difficulty crediting this.”

“That is because you only see yourself as a man. As a king, but no more.” Rowena looked at Dean, then at Castiel, and there was something terribly compassionate in her gaze. “The prophecy we spoke of-- it tells of the war between Plenty and Void only ending when what once was sundered is made whole.”

Castiel closed his eyes, turning Rowena’s words over in his mind. Opening them, he looked up at her and met the challenge in her gaze. “You knew this.” His words were quiet, but they cracked through the air like a whip. “You knew of this prophecy, and yet you said nothing when we married. Surely, in all your wisdom, you must have seen how it might apply to us.”

He could not bring himself to look at Dean. To know they had been brought together in a political arrangement was something he had come to terms with. To believe they had been brought together as instruments of fate-- it set his blood to boiling. 

“I had my suspicions, yes.” Rowena did not look away, unflinching in the face of his accusation. “But it was not my idea. For that, we must credit another.”

They both turned to look at Sam, who had gone pale. “I did not know,” he whispered. “I admit, I desperately wished for your union. But not because of this.”

“What’s done cannot be undone.” Cool as ever, Billie shook her head, gazing off into the distance. “What we have set in motion, we cannot halt now. This”-- she spread her hands wide once more to encompass the valley around them--”is only the beginning. Something is changing, and we cannot control it.”

“Change can be good,” Dean said quietly. His shoulders were stiff, and he looked only at Billie as he spoke. 

“Yes,” she replied. “But not always.” 

“Speak plainly,” Rufus growled. Billie turned her cool gaze in his direction and he grimaced, but held his ground. “Before we all grow old here.”

Rowena arched one eyebrow at him, and he subsided. “If this is indeed the prophecy coming to fruition, there is much to be wary of. Deep below us, the rumblings of these mountains will have shaken the bars of Void’s prison. Though captive, it is not without power. It has rallied in the past, meddling in Plenty’s affairs.” She cast a look of sorrow at Sam and Dean, hesitating. “The storm that came down from the mountains and took your mother’s life was one such instance.”

Dean tensed, drawing in a startled breath, and Castiel longed to reach out and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. But he did not move, his own surprise great enough to keep him frozen in place. If King John had known that it was Void that was responsible for his wife’s death, not the Hiemerians, how might that have changed the course of their long war? How might he and Dean found themselves living, had they not become kings of their respective lands following that same fateful battle?

“If Void can do that”-- Sam swallowed roughly-- “what else might it do?”

Both Billie and Rowena shook their heads, eyes shadowed. “I do not know,” Rowena murmured. “I know only this: we have ended one war, but another is about to begin.”

Pushing himself to his feet, Dean let out a muttered oath and strode off towards the far side of the valley. Sam sat up, calling after him, but Dean did not turn. With a similar oath, Sam turned to Castiel, eyes pleading. 

“Excuse us,” Castiel murmured, then followed after his husband.

Dean was standing under the drooping branches of an unfamiliar tree, its soft white blossoms spreading a sweet fragrance through the air. Were it not for the clear tension in the set of Dean’s shoulders, it would be a perfect sight.

“Dean.” Castiel approached him slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Turning to face him, Dean let out a bitter laugh. “What, precisely, are you sorry for? For the loss of my mother? Or for agreeing to marry me and setting in motion an ancient prophecy neither of us had any knowledge of?”

“The former,” Castiel said firmly. “Never the latter.” He licked his lips and stepped forward, holding Dean’s gaze. “Never.”

Dean shuddered, the anger visibly draining from his body. He pushed a hand through his hair and let out a deep sigh. “I do not enjoy being toyed with,” he said quietly. “I have no wish to be an agent of fate.”

“Nor do I.” Castiel shook his head, moving even closer. “I am as angry as you are, believe me.”

“You do not show it.” Dean gave him a wry smile. “Is it the Hiemerian ice in your veins that keeps you so cool and collected, my lord?”

“Perhaps.” Castiel permitted himself a matching smile. “But here, in this place, I feel some of the warmth of rage as well.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled his gloves back on so that he could lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb softly over the tense muscles. “We entered into this marriage to bring an end to the war,” he said quietly. “To stand poised on the brink of another--” He trailed off, his throat suddenly tight. 

“And one between forces we cannot know or understand.” Dean sighed, bringing up his own gloved hand to lay it over Castiel’s. “What have we done, Castiel? What have we set in motion? The end of our world, or its salvation?”

“I do not know.” Castiel wished he had more comforting words to offer, but he and Dean had long ago promised each other honesty. “We have done what we judged to be right. As for the rest--” He shrugged, looking up at the blossoming branch above them. “We will face it together.”

“Together,” Dean echoed softly. His eyes held Castiel’s for a moment, some nameless emotion making them luminous, then drifted away to where the others remained seated by the stream. “Not only you and I, though.”

Castiel followed his gaze, a slight smile breaking across his face as he watched Charlie give Rufus a good-natured shove while Rowena and Billie sat facing one another, eyes closed as they performed some sort of contemplative meditation. 

Slowly, he removed his hand from Dean’s shoulder, immediately mourning the loss of contact, unsatisfactory as it was. Dean sighed, and one of the blossoms, disturbed by his breath, drifted slowly downwards to land on the grass before them. Castiel’s throat tightened at the sight, something so bittersweet in its fallen beauty that he had to look away once more.


	12. Chapter 12

Since that first expedition into the new valley several weeks before, it had become a private refuge for Dean and Castiel. On occasion, they were forced to share it with teams of researchers from their universities and libraries, but most days, it was theirs and theirs alone. 

Today, Dean needed that peace, that solitude, that blossom-scented breeze stirring Castiel’s dark hair as he gazed at Dean with his fathomless blue eyes. He rode out of the palace, not even pausing to thank the guards at the gate as they raised it to let him pass. He would chide himself for his unbecoming and frankly unkingly rudeness later.

The rough path that led eastward down through the mountains had smoothed out under constant wear these past weeks. It allowed Dean to maintain a good pace, but when he drew up his horse at the entrance to the valley, a quick glance confirmed that Castiel had still managed to beat him here.

He was sprawled by the stream, face tilted up to the sky and eyes closed. Dean swung down from his horse and approached quietly, but when he was a few feet away, Castiel opened his eyes and smiled up at him, showing neither alarm nor surprise at his presence. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean dropped to the ground with a sigh, aching to lay his head in Castiel’s lap, to feel his fingers comb soothingly through his hair. Of course, he did no such thing, instead maintaining a careful distance and propping his head on one elbow to look into his husband’s face.

Castiel’s smile faded as he gazed back at Dean, a slight frown creasing his brow. “You’re upset.”

“I’ve just come from another council session,” Dean explained with a sigh. “Rowena, Sam, and Kevin have not given me a moment’s peace since we first visited here, since the priestesses first spoke of the prophecy.” He plucked at a blade of grass, tearing it to shreds, then immediately regretted destroying a piece of this place. Restless, he climbed back to his feet, pacing around the open meadow. “Does it hang as heavily over you as it does over me? Wondering if every move, every decision I make, is truly my own choice or determined by some ancient prediction?”

Castiel remained where he was, a slight frown creasing his brow. “In some ways, yes. I do wonder. I want to believe our actions are our own, but I also know nothing is as simple as that. If we are truly a piece of this prophecy, if we are the ones who are meant to restore balance to our world--” He shrugged, looking away. “That is what frightens me. The possibility that we might fail.”

Noting the distress on his face, Dean crossed back over to his husband and laid down on the grass beside him. “We won’t,” he said. “I don’t know what it means, Castiel. What our broken world being put together again can look like. But look around.” He waved a hand at the meadow, the stream burbling nearby. “We’ve already begun it, haven’t we? Our world is changing, and if Billie and Rowena are correct, it’s all because of us.”

“A heavy responsibility,” Castiel murmured, though some of the tightness around his eyes began to ease. 

“But one that we carry together.” Reaching out, Dean laid his gloved hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I hate that there is nothing we can do except wait. Sam and Kevin are making plans, attempting to foresee every eventuality, consulting with Rowena as to what she imagines might be coming. But all their theories will drive me mad.”

Castiel laughed, laying his own hand over Dean’s. “I can only imagine. You would much prefer the simplicity of a battlefield, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Dean admitted. “Somehow, I doubt that is the test that lies before us.”

“As do I,” Castiel said softly.

The conversation faltered, but the quiet was not an uncomfortable one. Dean could hear the birds calling to one another from the treetops, the splashing of the waterfall, the steady and familiar sound of Castiel’s breathing. The stress and tension slowly melted from his body as he laid there, eyes slipping closed. This place was a miracle, and even if it did foreshadow dire events to come, Dean could not help but marvel that he had had a hand in creating it. 

“Tell me something good,” he said without opening his eyes. “How are matters at home?”

He could hear the smile in Castiel’s voice as he replied. “Good, for the most part. Billie is pleased about the increase in devotees at the temple, these past weeks, and when Billie is happy, the rest of the kingdom generally follows.”

Dean could only imagine. “And at the palace? How are Jack and Balthazar?”

“Exactly as they always are.” Castiel laughed. “Balthazar has had a portrait of himself commissioned, wearing the regent’s diadem. He claims he’ll need it as proof that he once held power in the land, when he’s old and his memory begins to fade. Personally, I think it’s pure vanity on his part, but I’m sure it will be striking when it is finished.”

Dean grinned, imagining that conversation. For all his eccentricities, he liked Balthazar, and he had proven himself quite capable during the time Castiel was away. If he wanted a portrait of himself in testament to his time as regent, Dean would not judge him for it.

“Perhaps we ought to commission one of our own,” he said. “In full ceremonial dress, severe and pompous, with a map of our joined lands spread on the table before us.”

Castiel rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow and grinning. It was beginning to grow warmer as the sun rose higher in the sky, and they both discarded their gloves. “But where would it hang? We would need two versions, one for my palace and one for yours.”

“We could hang it here,” Dean suggested. “So we could laugh at it every time we visited together, wondering how we ever managed to remain composed long enough for it to be painted.”

They both broke into laughter at the idea, and Dean felt his heart swell in his chest at the way Castiel’s eyes crinkled up in his amusement. He ached to reach out, to smooth those lines away, to feel the softness of his skin under his fingertips. His good humour slipped away as he stared at his husband. If they were truly prophesied to be together, if all of this was indeed meant to happen-- then why could not they touch one another?

Dean rose to his feet, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “It isn’t fair,” he muttered under his breath. “If the world is asking so much of us, can we not even have this? Can we not even have each other in all the ways we want?”

They had made an art of bringing themselves pleasure in shared settings, but Dean did not refer only to sexual acts. He wanted to be able to push Castiel’s hair away from his forehead, to press a comforting kiss to his brow or his cheek, to stand behind him and massage the tension from his shoulders without clothing in the way. He wanted it all so badly, his chest ached with it. 

A moment later, he felt Castiel’s presence behind him. “Perhaps it is part of the test,” he said. “We entered this marriage for reasons other than desire and affection, Dean. Those things have come with time, and I am grateful beyond words that they have. Maybe, when all of this is over, that will be our reward.”

“Reward?” Dean spun to face him, jaw tight. “I don’t want to jump through hoops decreed by some distant power before I can touch you ungloved, Castiel. I want to show you, here and now, how much I have come to love you.”

He only realized what he had said as Castiel’s eyes flared wide, as his lips parted on a surprised inhale.

Dean had known it since the first time they came to this meadow. Had seen the way Castiel smiled at the flowering trees, the way he tucked the blossom Dean offered him behind his ear. That was the moment Dean knew: he was in love with his husband. 

He had not, however, intended to declare it so suddenly, to impose his feelings on Castiel that way. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “Castiel, I’m--” He started to turn away, his throat tightening, but Castiel stopped him.

“Don’t,” he said fiercely. “Do not be sorry, Dean, either for feeling it or for saying it.” He met Dean’s eyes, his own a brighter blue than the sky above them, and said, “I love you.”

Maybe it was the stillness of this place, the way it always felt like something out of a dream. Maybe it was the way they were already stripped so bare to one another, hearts exposed under the shining sun. Dean could not say who moved first, whose careful control broke, but the next thing he knew, his hand was in Castiel’s, and he felt no pain.

Castiel pulled back immediately, apologies tumbling from his lips, but Dean just stared at his hand, bracing for pain that did not come. He frowned, then reached out again. He did not touch Castiel, but left his hand hanging in the space between them, a fragile hope blossoming in his chest.

“Trust me,” he whispered. If he was wrong--

Castiel swallowed heavily, but met Dean’s eyes as he extended his own bare hand. Their fingertips brushed together, as delicate as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, and again there was no pain.

Exhaling deeply, Dean turned his wrist and placed his entire palm flat against Castiel’s. Neither moved as the seconds passed and they felt only the warmth of each other’s skin, the calluses formed by years of fighting a war they had brought to an end. “It’s a miracle,” Castiel murmured. “Dean, how is this--”

“How is any of this possible?” Dean asked. In that moment, he didn’t care about the prophecy, didn’t care about the forces of the universe meddling in his fate. All he cared about was the feeling of Castiel’s hand in his own, the words they had just spoken aloud. 

A smile of pure joy broke across his face as he tightened his grip. “I love you,” he said again, deliberately this time, enunciating every syllable, imbuing them with weight and significance. “Castiel, I--”

He was cut off by the press of Castiel’s lips against his own.

Dean had been dreaming of this kiss for many months. Since their wedding night, at least, if not even earlier. Castiel’s lips were soft and plush against his, warm and welcoming. Sighing, Dean deepened the kiss, bringing his arms up around Castiel’s shoulders and pulling him closer. It was an indescribable joy, holding him so tightly, and after a moment Dean pulled back so that he could rest his forehead against Castiel’s, letting out a shaky laugh.

“Is this a dream?” he asked under his breath.

Smiling mischievously, Castiel reached out and pinched him lightly, just above the elbow. Dean yelped more in protest than in pain, then gasped as Castiel leaned down to press his lips to the spot he had just pinched. “Apparently not,” Castiel murmured, lips tickling over the soft skin of Dean’s arm. “We are awake and aware, and for reasons unknown to me, your touch brings me only pleasure, not pain.”

Dean smiled, holding Castiel’s gaze. He slowly licked his lips, watching as Castiel’s eyes dropped to follow the movement, darkening as they did. “Well,” Dean said. “I am not inclined to look upon this blessing with suspicion. I believe we ought to take advantage of it while we can, if you are willing?”

Castiel swallowed roughly. “I am,” he said. “The things I’ve wanted to do with you, Dean, you have no idea--”

“Then show me,” Dean said, a series of vivid images already running through his own mind. Castiel made an approving sound and surged forward again, lips meeting Dean’s in a desperate kiss.

It was no less wondrous the second time around, and now that Dean was not bracing for something terrible to happen the instant he dropped his guard, he could enjoy it fully. He had not kissed anyone in a long time, but his body remembered, and the depth of his feelings for Castiel only heightened the sensation. He slid his hands down to rest at his husband’s hips, thumbs digging in slightly, and Castiel groaned against him, shamelessly pressing himself further into Dean’s hold. 

He could have stayed there for hours, just kissing, but it seemed Castiel had other ideas. His hands, laced behind Dean’s neck, slowly dipped beneath the collar of Dean’s shirt, tracing a light line between his shoulder blades. Dean bit back a moan as Castiel nipped lightly at the point where his neck met his jaw, teasing. “Can I remove this?” Castiel asked, tugging at his shirt.

It was more than warm enough in the meadow, and judging by the way matters were progressing, they would be creating heat of their own soon. Dean nodded frantically, releasing his hold on Castiel and stretching his arms over his head to assist him in removing the offending garment. As it fell to the ground, he arched an eyebrow at Castiel and nodded towards his own shirt. “It would only be fair.”

“Let us not risk disturbing the delicate balance of this place,” Castiel replied, laughing. He pulled his own shirt over his head in an unhurried, deliberate manner. Dean watched hungrily as his chest was bared to view, the knowledge that he could finally reach out and touch all that inviting skin making him somewhat light-headed.

There was a slight pause as they both stared at each other, chests rising and falling with their rapid breathing. Then Dean stepped closer and wrapped Castiel in his arms once more, running his hands down the smooth expanse of his back. Castiel stiffened in his arms, shuddering, and Dean repeated the motion with increased pressure just to watch him react again. He traced the long line of Castiel’s spine with the tips of his fingers as he trailed kisses along his neck, remembering how he had been informed it was sensitive. Judging by the way Castiel moaned, he had not exaggerated. 

But he must also have been paying attention, that night they first touched themselves in each other’s presence, because he smirked as he dropped his hands to rove over Dean’s chest, barely brushing against his nipples. Dean let out a cry of his own, leaning into the touch, as Castiel followed the path of his hands with his lips and tongue. Throwing his head back, Dean groaned as Castiel’s teeth scraped ever so lightly over his nipple, jolts of pleasure coursing through his entire body.

Dean’s knees weakened. Restlessly, he tugged at Castiel’s hands, bearing him down onto the soft grass. Both kneeling, they met in another kiss, fiercer with the deepening of their desire. Dean buried his hands in Castiel’s dark hair, marveling at its softness, as Castiel pushed gently at his shoulders until he was sprawled on his back, Castiel straddling him.

He stopped, a wicked gleam in his eyes, before shifting his weight forward so that their lower bodies came into contact as well. Dean hissed through his teeth as he felt the insistent press of Castiel’s erection against his leg. Raising his hands, he placed them at Castiel’s hips again, those sharp lines of bone and muscle that cried out to be held. Castiel looked down at him, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he rocked forward again. Dean guided him, urged him on, pulled him closer until they were straining against one another. A bead of sweat rolled down Castiel’s neck and onto his collarbone, and Dean surged upwards to chase it with his tongue, rolling them over in the same movement.

Castiel laughed breathlessly, gazing up at him with adoration in his lust-darkened eyes. Dean pressed a kiss directly over his heart, reaching between them to toy with the edge of his breeches. “May I?” he asked.

“Yes,” Castiel sighed, arching upwards in clear invitation. Dean wasted no further time, scrambling to remove Castiel’s breeches and the fine linen drawers beneath them. The sunlight turned his skin to gold, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat as he drank in the sight of him in all his naked glory. They had seen each other nude before, but it was different now. Now, Dean could touch him.

And touch him he did. He started at the very top, tracing the sharp line of Castiel’s cheekbone with his thumb, then over the dip of his upper lip and the swell of his lower, along his jaw and down the side of his neck. He splayed his hand against the firm muscles of his chest, down the trail of dark hair that led past his navel. He smiled as he bypassed his groin, Castiel pouting up at him as he explored the strength of his thick thighs and shapely calves, the delicate knobs of his ankles. 

“Dean.” There was an edge of pleading to Castiel’s voice that caused him to look up. “This hardly seems fair.”

“If you insist.” Dean pressed a kiss to the inside of Castiel’s ankle, then sat back slightly so he could remove his own trousers and drawers. He crawled back up the length of Castiel’s body, deliberately allowing their cocks to brush together, and kissed him again.

Castiel’s hands slid down his back, nails digging in slightly, then ghosted over his backside, teasing. Dean laughed, and Castiel tightened his grip, pulling Dean to him so there was no space left between them. 

“Those things you wanted to do--” Dean gasped out as Castiel nipped at the side of his neck. “You may wish to provide an example sooner rather than later.”

Laughing, Castiel shook his head, pressing an affectionate kiss to the tip of Dean’s nose. “Later,” he promised. “For now, just--” He thrust his hips upwards, cock sliding against Dean’s stomach, and Dean instinctively pressed down to meet him. Clumsily, they repeated the movement until they established a rhythm. Dean braced himself on his forearms, his lips close to Castiel’s but not actually touching, breathing in and out together as they climbed closer to climax.

“Castiel,” he murmured. “Oh, powers, Cas, it feels so--”

“I know.” Castiel’s nails dug into the tender flesh of Dean’s backside as he strained upwards, his cheeks flushed rose-red. “Dean, I--”

His mouth dropped open on a long exhale, and Dean felt the warm splash of liquid against his stomach. He thrust forward, the evidence of Castiel’s release helping to slick the way, and all the muscles in his body locked up as he followed him into bliss.

Dean slumped forward heavily, nuzzling into the crook of Castiel’s shoulder. He inhaled deeply, filling his nostrils with the scent of the sun-warmed grass beneath them and the faint aroma of musk that clung to Castiel in the aftermath of their exertions. Castiel’s hands traced lazy patterns on his back, and neither of them spoke for a long while.

Eventually, Dean rolled over, lacing his hands behind his head and turning his body up to the sun. A few seconds later, he felt the warm press of Castiel’s lips against his forehead. “Happy?”

“Very,” Dean answered. He rolled his head to the side and met Castiel’s eyes, soft with affection. “I know we said we could be content without it, but Castiel, that was--”

“Incredible,” Castiel finished. “Yes. I know.” He curled in closer, then grimaced at the sticky mess on Dean’s lower body. “But even in this enchanted place, it is unfortunately messy.”

Dean rolled his eyes, climbing wearily to his feet. “Entirely worth it, in my opinion.” Reaching down, he tugged Castiel up, guiding him towards the stream. “I suggest we have a refreshing splash in this convenient body of water and then do it all over again.”

Grinning, Castiel brushed past him, casting an inviting look back over his shoulder. “Excellent plan, my love. So why are you dawdling?”

Dean laughed and allowed himself to be led into the cool water of the stream. He would not permit himself to wonder how long they would enjoy this precious gift, to lose himself in worries about the future. For now, they had this one shining day, and the time and solitude with which to make use of their new ability to take pleasure and comfort in each other’s touch. 

Plenty, Void, and the upcoming battle could wait. Prophecy or no prophecy, they had created this place for themselves and found joy in it. If that was all their union resulted in, Dean would count it a victory.


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel hummed to himself as he rode through the mountains, following the path that had become familiar to him over the past few weeks. For all that its sudden appearance had taken them by surprise, he was more pleased at the fact of the meadow’s existence than ever before. His limbs felt loose and relaxed, aftershocks of pleasure still running through his veins. He had no idea why he and Dean could suddenly touch without causing each other pain, but he was eternally grateful for it.

It had been difficult to tear themselves apart, to leave that dreamlike state behind them, but they both had their responsibilities to return to. Dean was due to visit Hiemere in a week, and they would have plenty of time to discover whether their newfound ability to maintain physical contact was linked to the passage of time since their marriage or to the geographical particularities of the meadow. Personally, he hoped it was the former.

The sun was setting, and the farther Castiel travelled, the colder it became. Shivering, he reached into his saddlebags and withdrew a thick cloak, settling it over his shoulders. They had quickly learned to travel prepared for the differences in temperature, and Castiel’s packs contained several other pieces he could layer on as he approached the castle. His horse, accustomed to the cold, only snorted briefly as a gust of wind blew past them. 

They reached the foot of the mountains and turned west. There was a light layer of snow covering the ground, as was normal, but as they went on, it did not seem to deepen as it usually would. Castiel frowned and clicked his tongue, bringing his mount to a halt, and leaped down to press his hand into the snow. It was no more than an inch thick, and yet they were within an hour’s journey of the castle. 

Swinging himself back into the saddle, he pressed his heels into his horse’s sides, urging more speed. The scholars at the academy would likely be very interested to learn of this change, and Castiel hoped they could provide a simple, logical answer to ease the worry that burrowed into his mind as he rode on.

He arrived at the castle in darkness, the torches that lined the causeway flickering in welcome. The guards at the gate snapped to attention as he clattered up towards them, and he returned their salutes briefly before leading his horse to the stables. Normally, he would take care of her himself, but he had other more pressing matters to concern himself with. Not even bothering to change out of his travelling garments, he caught the eye of the first attendant he could find and sent him off in search of both Billie and Rufus.

Castiel waited in a small audience chamber near the front gate, pacing nervously before the hearth. Under other circumstances, he might dismiss what he had seen. But considering the changes wrought to the very landscape and the prophecy that hung over his head like a grey cloud, he could not ignore even such a small thing as less snow than one might expect. 

Rufus arrived first, habitual scowl in place as he entered the room. “Now what?” he asked, settling wearily into a seat. 

“I will explain shortly,” Castiel promised. “I would prefer to do so only once, though, so we will await Lady Billie.”

At the mention of her name, Rufus’ scowl faded. Castiel bit back a smile, knowing from long experience that the High Priestess was one of the few people Rufus respected enough to treat with unfailing politeness.

Billie swept into the room only minutes later, expressionless. “Your Majesty,” she said, nodding in his direction. “Sergeant Turner.” 

Rufus rose to his feet and bowed, pulling out a chair for her. Billie gathered her robes around herself and sat calmly, gazing at Castiel with her dark eyes. “To what do we owe this unexpected meeting?”

Castiel cleared his throat uneasily. It sounded so trivial now, in his mind. “I was riding home from a day in the mountains,” he explained. He did not have to mention how he had spent the day, or who with. He could tell by the looks in both Billie and Rufus’ eyes that they knew. “As I made my way west, I was surprised to note that the snow was not deepening at its normal rate.”

Rufus’ scowl returned in full force. “And you didn’t consider that perhaps you’ve tramped it down with all the riding back and forth you’ve been doing to visit that husband of yours over the past weeks? Not to mention all the scholars and gawkers who also want to see the new land in the mountains?”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. He could feel a faint flush rising high in his cheeks. It was exactly the sort of simple, logical explanation he had been hoping for. He ought to have thought of it himself. 

But Billie shook her head, lips pursed. “That is certainly possible, Sergeant Turner. However--” She looked at Castiel, and he shivered at the terrible compassion in her gaze. “I do not believe it is so.”

Rising to her feet, she laid a hand against the thick stone wall of the castle. “This is not the first disturbance to reach Hiemere.”

Despite the warmth of the fire behind him, a chill crept up Castiel’s spine. “What do you mean?”

She turned to face him, something that might have been regret shadowing her eyes. “Earlier this morning, I was in the sanctuary performing my usual contemplation when I heard a loud noise, like the crack of ice. None of the sculptures were disturbed, so I took a torch and descended to the catacombs.” She paused, and for the first time in his life, Castiel saw doubt on her features. “There was a fissure in the earth. Right down the middle of the burial chamber. Not deep, but splintering in many directions, as though something had reached upwards with enormous force and slammed into the ground from below.”

“But the earth is frozen solid,” Rufus said, leaning forward. “How could it just split apart like that?”

Billie looked at Castiel and raised her shoulders in a shrug. “I told you that not all change was good,” she replied. “I fear this, my king. I fear what it may precede.”

Castiel closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. They had known this day might arrive, but in spite of all the warnings, he had stubbornly clung to hope. There was no time left to deny the significance of these events.

“Spread the word,” he commanded, opening his eyes once more and looking at Rufus and Billie in turn. “Anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small it might seem, is to be reported immediately. Rufus, tomorrow you will ride for the outlying villages, taking ten guards with you. We cannot leave them defenseless.”

Rufus gave him a sharp salute. Castiel looked at Billie, the priestess who had once been a soldier, his best and brightest weapon in whatever war was to come. “And you, my lady,” he said, “pray for us all.”

The next morning, after a night of little sleep, Castiel paid a visit to the temple.

One of the younger attendants was before the altar, praying. Castiel did not interrupt him, just waited patiently, knowing Billie would emerge sooner or later. In the meantime, he scanned over the ice sculptures lining the walls, his upper lip curling as he gazed on the familiar scene of the battle between Plenty and Void. 

It was an uncomfortable look at what might lie ahead. 

“I cannot admire them the same way I always have.” Billie’s voice was low, but it still startled Castiel. Turning, he met her wry gaze. “I want to ask them why, why this and why now, but they do not speak to me.”

Castiel took one last look at the sculptures and gestured to the stone steps in the opposite corner. “They are not what I came here to see.”

Billie nodded slowly. “Of course, my king.” She led him across the room, the attendant looking up and watching them with wary eyes. Plucking a torch from the bracket on the wall, she held her long robes in her free hand and began to descend.

With a deep breath, Castiel followed.

The cold, which usually carried with it a sense of eternal peace, felt different today. The back of Castiel’s neck prickled with unease, a quiet menace growing the further down they climbed. He tugged his fur-lined cloak more tightly around himself and focused on the glow of Billie’s torch, the only bright spot in the darkness of the catacombs. 

Billie came to an abrupt stop at the end of the staircase, and Castiel nearly stumbled into her. “There,” she said, sweeping her arm in front of her to illuminate the floor. 

Castiel stepped carefully around her and looked down at the floor. Directly through the path between the tombs, a jagged crack ran the length of the room. It was not deep, but the breadth of it was frightening nonetheless. Castiel remembered Michael describing his hope for a siege, his eyes shining as he discussed the possibility of a battering ram being used against the great gates of the Calornan palace. With a sick certainty, Castiel knew that was exactly what this was: something beneath the surface, beginning its assault, only the first blow of many more to come. 

“No change since yesterday?” he asked, hating the way his voice echoed in the cold chamber.

“None.” Billie’s tone held no reassurance. “We monitor it hourly, my lord. If anything happens, we will alert you immediately.”

“Good.” Castiel looked down at the floor once more and shivered. He dragged his gaze past it, to the closest tomb, then turned back to Billie. “Might I have a few moments alone?”

She followed the path his eyes had taken, and something in her expression softened. “Of course, Your Majesty.” With a slight incline of her head, she offered him the torch, then climbed back up the stairs in darkness, her footsteps sure with the familiarity of long years.

Gripping the torch tightly, Castiel advanced into the chamber, careful not to step on the crack in the floor. He paused in front of the nearest tomb, a burnished silver plaque set into the packed-earth wall bearing Michael’s name and his dates of birth, coronation, and death. Above it, Icelight glittered in the light of the torch, laid to rest along with the last to bear it into battle. 

Castiel reached out and laid his hand against the cold wall. His brother’s body rested just behind it, shrouded in fine fabrics. He had not seen the burial, had not been here to pay his last respects. Instead, he had been in Calorna, agreeing to marry Dean and setting this entire sequence of events in motion.

The last time he had seen Michael’s face, it had been in a dream. Castiel remembered the words his brother had spoken with perfect clarity: _You have betrayed us, Castiel. This alliance will destroy us all._ Perhaps, in the way of dreams, he had been warning Castiel. Or perhaps, in the way characteristic of so many of their interactions, he had been greatly exaggerating the consequences of Castiel’s mistakes. 

“I miss you,” Castiel murmured. For all their disagreements, Michael had been a central figure in Castiel’s life. His strength, his single-minded purpose, his ability to carry others along in his enthusiasm, all would have been greatly welcome in this time of confusion. But Michael was cold in his grave, and Castiel could not look to him for advice, not now. He would have to rely on his own strengths, meager though they might seem at times. 

Sighing, Castiel turned and left the catacombs, plunging them back into darkness.

Billie was waiting for him at the top of the steps, hands folded in the wide sleeves of her robe. “What will you do?” she asked.

Castiel squared his shoulders and met her eyes. “The only thing I can do,” he replied. “I will call an assembly of the castle residents and ensure word is spread of the growing danger. Not only here, but in Calorna as well. After that”-- he shrugged-- “I will do whatever I must to ensure the safety and security of my people.”

Two more days passed in watchful suspense, but no new disturbances were reported. Rufus returned from his mission to the outlying villages, tight-lipped and scowling as ever but with nothing else alarming to mention. It felt as though the entire kingdom were holding its collective breath, waiting for release.

Castiel was not sleeping well. Every night, he curled up in his large, lonely bed, remembering the nights he and Dean had spent together here, not touching but still sharing the space, sharing each other’s burdens. Bianca slept at his feet, small body curled into an impossibly tight spiral, but even her dreams were disturbed, judging by the way she yipped and trembled as she slept. In the middle of the night, Castiel would wake and rise, stroking a gentle hand through her soft fur and wondering what it was the fox saw behind her closed eyelids. Bianca calmed under his touch, but he would wake later in the night to her small cries again. 

On the fourth day since his return from the meadow, Castiel woke to the sound of heavy knocking on his chamber door. Stumbling out of bed, he wrapped a robe around himself and slid into the thick fur slippers that protected his feet from the cold stone floor. “Enter,” he called out, skidding towards the door. “What is it?”

Balthazar pushed open the door, his usually mirthful face grim, Jack and Hannah trailing behind him. “A rider has come in from the mountains,” he said. “You’ll want to hear this, Castiel.”

They made their way speedily to the audience hall, where a group of worried courtiers awaited them. Castiel nodded as he passed them, taking up his seat on the throne with his cousins ranging around him. A young woman knelt on the cold floor, face hidden beneath a thick woollen scarf, and Castiel’s heart clenched in apprehension at her tense posture.

“Please, rise,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “Tell us your name, and what you have seen.”

“I am Muriel, Your Majesty.” The rider’s voice trembled, but she held herself proudly. “My family and I journey into the mountains to bring back water for the castle.”

“And we thank you for your worthy endeavours,” Castiel said. He attempted an encouraging smile despite his growing unease. “What news do you bring?”

Muriel reached into the pocket of her robe and withdrew a small flask. Her hands shook, and Castiel swallowed nervously. “With your permission, my king?”

He could only nod. Muriel unscrewed the stopper of the flask and tilted it on its side, a slow stream of water splashing onto the floor. But instead of the pure, clear liquid that usually came down from the mountains, it was thick and grey, the smell of ashes rising as it puddled onto the ground.

Castiel drew in a startled gasp as murmurs and exclamations broke out from the crowd. He leaned forward on the throne, meeting Muriel’s gaze. “All of it is like this?”

She nodded, eyes enormous in her pale face. “We visited every spring we know of, my king. They were all as you see here. My father instructed me to bring you a sample with all possible speed.”

The murmurs from the crowd grew louder, panic beginning to lace their words. Castiel raised his hand as he said, “Please, my friends, our alarm will serve no purpose.” He waited until they had subsided, then looked back to Muriel. “Your father was right to send you. Thank you for your service, my young friend.” He gestured to one of the attendants hovering nearby, who immediately approached and laid a comforting hand on Muriel’s shoulder. “Rest now. You have done well.”

The attendant led Muriel away, her flask abandoned on the ground, and Castiel watched them go with his heart sinking in his chest. They depended on the water from the springs, frozen as the landscape was, and if it was polluted now--

“Jack.” His cousin stepped forward immediately, youthful face creased in concern. “Your teachers at the academy, might they be able to fashion some sort of purification system? A filter, perhaps?”

“We will try,” Jack said, nodding fiercely. He stooped to pick up the flask, and liquid still sloshed inside of it. “If this sample is not enough, we will travel to the springs themselves and see if anything can be done at the source.”

“Good.” Castiel dismissed him with a nod, and Jack immediately left the hall, flask tucked under his arm. 

Next, he looked to Hannah. “Consult with the palace staff,” he instructed. “Take careful inventory of all our stores, and draft a plan for rations.”

Hannah’s face went pale, but she inclined her head. “Yes, my lord.”

Last, he turned to Balthazar. His right hand, his regent, his best friend. “You know what I must ask of you,” he said quietly. 

“Cas--”

“What kind of king would I be if I remained here, hiding behind the walls of my palace?” Castiel rose to his feet and offered his cousin a wry smile. “It won’t be for long this time, I swear. I will make a trip into the mountains, to see this for myself, and then I will return.”

Balthazar shook his head tightly, eyes fierce with both pride and resignation. “There’s no arguing with you, is there?”

“No,” Castiel said. “I am the king, after all.”

At that, Balthazar laughed and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Be careful,” he murmured. “I do not like this.”

“Nor do I.” Castiel shrugged as he drew back. “And that is why we must stop it.”

He looked back at the crowd, lifting his chin high. “I will be venturing forth into the western mountains personally,” he said. “Lord Balthazar will serve as regent in my absence, as he has done before.” He took a deep breath and looked at the guards standing at attention around the perimeter of the room. “Do I have any volunteers to accompany me?”

Without hesitation, every single one of them raised their hands. Despite his worries, a small smile sprang to Castiel’s lips. “Thank you,” he told them. “We leave in one hour.”

The smell of ash grew stronger as they climbed higher into the mountains, filling Castiel’s nostrils and lungs. He coughed, then rewound his scarf around his face, attempting to block out the scent.

They had passed two of the nearer springs already, both of them bubbling grey and thick with soot. Castiel instructed the guards to take samples from both, watching warily as they did. They wore their gloves, at his command, and did not seem to suffer any ill-effects from their proximity to the polluted water, but he worried nonetheless.

The last spring lay just beyond the curve in the rough path ahead. Castiel urged his horse forward, patting her side soothingly as she whinnied. The horses knew something was amiss, and he could not fault them for their hesitance. The rough outcrops of rock seemed to conceal hundreds of watchful eyes, tracking their progress as they approached, and Castiel shivered at the thought of what lay beneath these mountains, what stirred in the dark reaches of the earth.

As the spring came into view, Castiel raised his hand, signalling the others to halt. “Allow me,” he said, swinging down from the saddle.

“Your Majesty, no--” one of the guards started, but Castiel raised one eyebrow at him and he quickly subsided. 

Castiel approached the spring, reaching into his pocket for the flask he carried. This close, the stench was overpowering, and he gagged as he leaned down over what should have been a pool of clear, ice-cold water. Instead, a sluggish burble of thick grey liquid emerged from the ground. Shuddering, Castiel dipped his flask into the spring.

The instant his flask met the surface, his vision went dark. Castiel cried out and would have pulled back, but something gripped him by the wrist, thin appendages digging tightly into his skin. He could hear the shouts of the guards behind him, but he could not turn, could not move, could only stare into the roiling grey mass before his eyes.

_Castiel._

Pain exploded in his head at the sound of the voice, so cold and so high, ringing in his ears like a terrible bell. _At long last. Let me look upon you, Castiel, you who have weakened the bars of my cage._

“I did not mean to,” Castiel whispered. He shut his eyes, unable to bear the sight of the grey water moving so rapidly before him. “We did not know.”

_You humans never do._ There was a trace of amusement in the voice now. _Farewell for now, Castiel. I have marked your face. Mark mine._

Castiel screamed as a rush of cold wind passed over him, a grinning darkness in its depths. The wind faded as quickly as it had risen and he fell back, his wrist suddenly free, into the arms of the guards.

“Your Majesty!” They hurriedly set him on his feet, but kept him upright with their arms around his shoulders. “Your Majesty, what happened?”

Blinking, Castiel looked at them. They wore expressions of concern mixed with confusion, but there was no blank terror in their eyes. “The voice,” he said, his own hoarse. “You did not hear it?”

The guards exchanged worried glances. “We only heard you cry out,” one of them said. “We tried to pull you back from the water, but you would not move.”

Castiel glanced back at the grey pool, quiet now but still with that stench rising from it. He felt his stomach turn and he looked away, exhaling shakily. “No matter,” he said. “We have our samples, and we have seen for ourselves that the springs are corrupted.”

He climbed onto his horse’s back and turned her head back towards the castle. “Let us not linger here.”

They rode in silence, and Castiel could feel the guards’ eyes on his back, could hear their murmured conversations. He knew this story would make the rounds of the barracks later today, how the king had had some sort of fit during the expedition. He could only hope it would be told with concern and not with scorn. If ever there was a time he needed to appear strong before his people, it was now.

He could not shake the memory of that voice, that phantom hand tight around his wrist. It was Void reaching up to him through the ground, there was no other explanation for it. That in itself was horrifying, but it had known Castiel’s name. It had marked his face. Castiel shivered and pressed his heels to his horse’s sides, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the mountains as quickly as possible.

Dismissing the guards inside the gates, he turned towards his own chambers but was halted by an attendant, who held out a letter. Thanking her, Castiel tucked it into his pocket and retreated to the safety of his room, where Bianca greeted him with a yip and settled at his feet before the fire. 

Castiel smiled at the sight of the envelope. It was addressed to Castiel, King of Hiemere, and then below, Husband. He traced his fingers over that last word, imagining the smile Dean would have worn as he wrote it, then pulled the envelope open. 

_Castiel,_

_You wrote to me of strange things happening in Hiemere. I write now to tell you of strange things happening in Calorna. Two days ago, a giant pit appeared in the middle of the southern road, just as a party of merchants was travelling along. They lost only a wagon, fortunately no lives, but since then, three more pits have opened along the same road. The crops in the eastern fields have all suffered some sort of disease and are spoiled, hanging rotten from the branches of their trees. _

_I dream of my kingdom destroyed, and every night I wake with a scream in my throat._

_Is this the prophecy at work? Is this the battle we have been preparing for? If so, I do not know how to fight it. We have been at war all our lives, and yet even my chief strategist has no answers. _

_I will be with you shortly, and we will discuss these matters in person. I hope we can find answers, and some rest, together._

_With love, _

_Dean_

Chilled, Castiel read the letter again. There was no comfort to be drawn from the knowledge that Dean and his people were also suffering. It only spoke to Void’s growing power and influence, and to the approach of something they could not prevent, the final confrontation he and Dean had inadvertently set into motion. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Castiel tossed the letter into the fire, watching as the flames devoured it with their pure, mindless hunger. There was little point drafting a reply detailing his experience at the spring. Dean was due to arrive in Hiemere in only two days, and as he had written, they could discuss matters then.

Castiel only hoped there would still be time for such conversations.


	14. Chapter 14

In the early hours before dawn, Dean made his way down to the stables. A few attendants snuck curious glances at him as he passed them in the halls, but they did not stop to question him. His riding boots clattered noisily against the tiles, ruining any attempt at stealth, and Dean sighed as he adjusted the heavy pack over his shoulder. So much for a quiet exit.

As he was saddling his horse, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Dean whirled, already reaching for the sword at his hip, but exhaled in relief when he saw Benny grinning at him, Charlie and Victor just behind him. “Easy there,” Benny said, holding up his hands.

“What is it?” Dean snapped, heart racing. If they had come with more bad news, another report of strange happenings--

“Everything is fine.” Charlie stepped forward, eyes soft. “Except for you riding off to Hiemere unescorted.”

Dean scowled at her, tightening the straps on his saddle. “I’ve crossed the mountains alone before.”

“Not all the way,” Victor corrected. “And not since the pits have opened in the road.”

“You can’t go out there on your own.” Benny folded his arms across his broad chest and narrowed his eyes at Dean. “We need you safe, Your Majesty.”

Fondness and annoyance warred in Dean’s tone. “Fine,” he said. “But I will not take all of you. Someone needs to stay here to help Sam and Kevin should anything happen in my absence.”

“Of course.” Victor rolled his eyes. “We knew you would say that. So you decide who rides with you to Hiemere, and the other two will remain here.”

Dean looked between the three of them. Benny stood patiently, a hint of a smile hovering on his lips. Victor was still smirking, resting casually against the stall door. And Charlie was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, eyes shining with excitement.

The choice was obvious. “Charlie, with me,” he said. “Benny, Victor, report to my brother in his office. I’m sure he’ll have plenty to keep you busy.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Grinning, Victor saluted, then turned sharply on his heel and left the stables.

Benny paused, reaching out to lay a hand on Dean’s arm once more. “Be careful,” he said. “We don’t know what it is that we’re facing.”

Throat tight, Dean nodded. He had not had much time to spare for his friends recently, what with his constant trips to Hiemere or entertaining Castiel here. Their concern and devotion in spite of such neglect was touching, though it also made guilt rise like bile in his throat. “I will,” he replied. “And Charlie will watch out for me.”

“I will.” Charlie nodded fiercely, shaking Benny’s hand, tiny beside him.

“Best be on your way, then.” Benny stepped aside to clear the path to the exit as Dean swung onto his horse’s back. “Safe journey, Dean. Charlie.”

Dean nodded his farewell as he guided his horse out of the stables, Charlie following close behind. He lifted his hand to wave, and then Benny was gone from his sight. 

Charlie was uncharacteristically quiet until they left the castle grounds, but once they passed through the outer gate, she nudged her horse forward and drew up close alongside Dean. “Sam will send word if anything happens,” she said. “You’re not leaving the people entirely helpless.”

Exhaling loudly, Dean cast her an exasperated look. “How is it you know exactly what I’m thinking?”

“Because I know you,” she replied calmly. “And because anyone in your position would be thinking exactly the same thing.”

Dean looked ahead to the jagged mountains, thinking of what lay on the other side. A land he had come to love on his visits, despite their fraught history. A land that had raised his husband, and others he had come to respect and admire. “The king of Calorna riding into Hiemere in a time of distress, not to conquer them at their weakest but to offer what aid he can. How strange.”

Charlie shook her head, the sunlight glinting off her red hair. “It isn’t so simple anymore, my lord. The world itself is changing. Calorna and Hiemere are not the only two lands, and they are no longer enemies. What happens there is happening to us as well, just taking different forms. For better or for worse, we’re all in this together.”

Despite the gravity of their topic, Dean smiled. “You sound like Castiel.”

Unruffled, Charlie just shrugged. “I’ve always found him to be quite clever.”

“He is,” Dean agreed. Just thinking about Castiel caused his heart to leap in his chest, but his worry tempered his gladness. He did not wish to lose himself in wild imaginings of what terrible things Castiel might be dealing with, not when he was still too far away to lend his support.

“Things are going well, then?” Charlie asked, a sly knowledge in her voice as she looked sidelong at Dean. 

He felt himself flush, and not just from the warmth of the sun as it beat down upon them. “You could say that.” His thoughts strayed to that golden afternoon in the meadow, the noises Castiel had let out as Dean had touched him for the first time. The way his face had gone slack with pleasure, and the feeling of his skin against Dean’s as they embraced afterwards.

Coughing, he raised one eyebrow at Charlie. “And you? How fares the valiant Dorothy?”

Charlie let out a sigh, eyes going distant and fond. “She’s glad not to be risking her life on the battlefield every day, of course, but she’s also getting restless. She doesn’t know how not to be a soldier.”

Dean nodded. It was a common predicament for those who had served under Sam’s command, cast adrift by the peace treaty with Hiemere. Many of them had found new livelihoods, but others-- “She has a place among the Royal Guard, if she wishes it.”

“I know.” Charlie shrugged moodily. “She says she means no offense to what I do, but that the Guard simply isn’t for her. All I’ve ever wanted was for her to be safe and happy, and while she’s certainly a great deal safer now that we’re no longer at war, sometimes I worry she’s far less happy.” She shook her head. “How odd, to be discontent in a time of peace. But I understand it, and I do not know how to help her.”

Dean grimaced as he reached out to pat her shoulder in sympathy. He wished he had taken the opportunity to speak to Charlie earlier, or to speak to Dorothy directly. There were so many people learning to adjust to the new circumstances of their lives, and no matter his efforts, he could not see to each of them individually. But Charlie was his friend, and even if he could do nothing more than listen, it was what he should have done a long time ago.

He supposed, considering the other matters he was dealing with, Charlie would likely forgive him for his inattention.

“Well,” he said, looking towards the mountains again. “If the prophecy is correct, another war approaches. We may have need of Dorothy on a battlefield once more.”

“I know.” Charlie shook her head, new lines of strain showing around her eyes. “That’s what frightens me the most.” She blew out a noisy breath, following the direction of Dean’s gaze. “Plenty and Void, their rivalry playing out with our lands as the battleground. I used to love the old tales, the drama of it all. But to imagine it all coming to a head, here and now--”

“I know,” Dean echoed softly. “It’s enough to make even the most valiant among us tremble.” He pressed his heels lightly against his horse’s sides, urging more speed. “And yet here we are, riding right towards it.”

At that, Charlie grinned. “Would you have it any other way?”

“No.” Dean matched her smile with one of his own. He did not want another war, but what he wanted did not seem to matter. These events would play themselves out regardless. “Truly, I would not.”

As they descended the mountain pass into Hiemere, the drop in temperature seemed less extreme than usual. Charlie wrapped another layer of fabric around herself, but she frowned as she did, selecting only the second-heaviest cloak from her pack. “Is it not normally colder than this?” she asked.

“Yes.” Dean’s mouth tightened as he raised his face to the sky, no snowflakes drifting down to land on it. “It is.”

They rode further west, their horses moving easily through the thin cover of snow across the road. “And this snow is normally deeper,” Dean remarked. It was one thing to read about the changes in Hiemere in the notes Castiel sent with his messengers, but to see them for himself was more troubling than Dean cared to admit. 

“It’s like the crop failures,” Charlie said quietly. “Or the sinkholes.”

Dean nodded slowly. Hiemere suffered just as Calorna did, but in slightly different ways. “I do not like this,” he murmured. “We ride hard for the castle.”

Charlie nodded fiercely, and they urged both their horses into a gallop. As they sped across the open area between the mountain pass and the castle, Dean’s worry only grew stronger. He had not received a response to his last letter to Castiel, and he had initially assumed it was because he would arrive in Hiemere almost as quickly as a messenger would have reached him at his own home. But now, feeling the tension on the chill breeze, he wondered: could Castiel be--

No. He would not allow himself to consider it. 

As the gleaming castle walls came into sight, Charlie sighed in relief. Apparently Dean was not the only one whose thoughts had taken a dark turn. “It appears intact,” she called out over the thunder of their horses’ hooves.

“Thankfully,” Dean replied under his breath. 

They clattered across the bridge over the frozen river, workers looking up to lift their hands in greeting as they passed. By now, they likely recognized Dean despite his layers of concealing clothing. He waved to them as they sped onwards, all his attention on the castle gates looming ahead.

The instant they were inside, Dean leapt down from his horse, tossing the reins to a young stablehand. A number of Hiemerians were gathered in the courtyard to greet them, but Dean only had eyes for Castiel.

In two strides, he closed the distance between them and swept Castiel into his arms. The thick layers of fur and wool between them prevented any accidental contact, so Dean could hold his husband as close as their garments allowed, taking in the warmth and solidity of him. His eyes were bracketed by fine lines, his jaw set tight, but he still smiled, the small, private smile reserved for Dean alone.

“Hello, Dean,” he said. “I am very glad to see you.”

Dean wanted nothing more than to remove his gloves, to cup Castiel’s face in his hands and kiss away the lines of stress that he bore. But they did not yet know whether that was possible, so he kept his hands clenched tight as he offered a shaky smile of his own. “And I you,” he murmured. “Cas, I was so worried--”

Castiel winced, taking a step back. “Come inside,” he said, gesturing Charlie forward as well. “There is much to tell you.”

He led them to a small chamber where a fire blazed merrily in the hearth. Charlie immediately held her hands out in front of the flames with a sigh of relief, but Dean was too preoccupied to notice the cold. He took a seat at the round table, Castiel beside him, with Balthazar and Billie filling the other places.

Castiel laced his fingers together and looked at Dean, eyes shadowed. “In your letter, you spoke of strange happenings in Calorna.” Dean nodded, but Castiel was not finished. “As I wrote, we have been experiencing them as well. The snow is less heavy than usual, and earlier this week, a great crack appeared in the floor of the catacombs beneath the temple.”

Inhaling sharply, Dean cast a look at Billie. Her expression betrayed no emotion, but in her eyes, Dean thought he saw something like rage. “To strike at the very heart of the land,” he said slowly. “No one was harmed, I hope?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “Fortunately not. But that is not all.” He looked at Balthazar, whose usual mischievous expression was markedly absent. “The springs in the mountains have turned thick and grey with ash. Our water stores are dangerously low.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold of Hiemere swept over Dean. Water was the most important resource in any land. He looked across the room and met Charlie’s eyes, her face stricken. She did not hesitate before nodding once, firmly, and throwing him a crisp salute.

“Ride back to Calorna tomorrow,” he instructed her. “Arrange a convoy with as many barrels of fresh water as can be spared. I entrust this task to you, Charlie.”

“Yes, my lord.” She bowed briefly and snapped her heels together.

Turning back to the Hiemerians, Dean saw matching looks of shock on their faces. “You will simply-- send us your water?” Balthazar asked, brows knit together in confusion.

“Dean, your generosity is unrivalled, but what if your people should have need of it?” Castiel said. He leaned close, his leg brushing against Dean’s under the table. 

Deliberately, Dean pressed his own leg back against Castiel’s. “We do not lack fresh water in Calorna. These events have shown that both our lands are suffering at the hands of the same enemy.” Lowering his voice, he addressed his next words to Castiel alone. “You are my husband, and while we have not officially joined our kingdoms together, I feel a duty to your people just as I do to my own. I will not let you or any of them risk death over a matter we have the potential to solve.”

Castiel opened his mouth, then closed it again with a sharp click. “Very well. What can we do other than accept your gift with grace and gratitude?” He turned to Balthazar and nodded in Charlie’s direction. “See to it that Charlie is given the most comfortable accommodations for the night, and arrange for two of our own people to accompany her back to Calorna tomorrow.”

Expression grave, he turned back to Dean. “Anything we can offer in return is yours. You only need tell us.”

Dean shook his head. “As of yet, we are managing. Some of the crops have suffered, but we produce enough to absorb the blow.” 

Abruptly, Billie stood from her seat and began to pace the room. “Your food, our water. Void strikes at us from both angles. And according to King Castiel, the earth itself has been damaged in your home as well?”

“Yes,” Dean replied. “Though not in the temple.” He grimaced, imagining Rowena’s reaction were such a thing to come to pass. “Along the road, several large pits have opened, slowing the flow of goods and persons.”

“Another testing of its limits,” Castiel murmured. His face was pale, his hands locked tightly together. He drew in a deep breath, then looked around the room. “Might my husband and I have a moment alone?”

“Of course,” Balthazar replied. He must have recovered some of his usual humour, because he sent Dean a rather knowing wink as he held out his arms to Billie and Charlie. “I do not believe we had anything further to contribute.”

Dean waited until the others had shut the door behind them before laying his gloved hand over Castiel’s, too many words and emotions building in his throat. Castiel attempted a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “We knew this might be coming,” he said quietly. “And yet now that it has--”

“Shh.” Dean ached with the need to hold him close, to take his pain into himself and offer what comfort he could. He removed his hand and slowly began to free it from the glove, holding Castiel’s gaze.

“Dean--” he said warningly. “We should not--”

“I need to know,” Dean muttered fiercely. He flexed his bare hand, squaring his shoulders. “May I?”

Castiel met his eyes, not a trace of fear in their depths. “Yes.”

Dean reached out and brushed the tip of one finger across Castiel’s thumb.

They both flinched back as the familiar sting hit them. It was less intense than on previous occasions, but only because Dean had been so careful in his touch. Drawing back, he folded his hand into a fist and pressed it to his forehead, willing himself to remain calm.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel’s voice was quiet, but there was enough grief in it to raise Dean’s head once more. “I had hoped--”

“So had I,” Dean admitted. “Whatever blessing was on us in that meadow does not extend this far, it seems.” 

He shook his head, replaying all the interactions between their friends and family members he had witnessed. Surely, after these months of new and cordial relations, they had touched at least once-- a handshake, anything. And yet they had not made mention of any ill effects. He remembered what Castiel had told him, a conversation with Billie where she explained her theory that their royal blood made the incompatibility between them stronger. For one brief moment of weakness, Dean wished he had never become king. 

Castiel stood, almost knocking his chair over with the speed of his movement. “I do not understand any of this,” he said, voice tight with frustration. “How does this all relate? What is the ultimate plan here?”

“I wish I knew.” Dean rose to stand beside him, near enough that he could see the rise and fall of Castiel’s chest as he breathed. “I don’t know anything more than you, Castiel.”

“Indeed, you know less.” Castiel bit his lip as he swung his head back to meet Dean’s gaze. “There is something I have not yet told you.”

Another chill crept up Dean’s spine. “What is it?” he asked, though he feared the answer.

Castiel returned to the table, dropping heavily into a seat, his shoulders hunched. “I rode out to investigate the springs in the mountains. I took guards, and we collected samples to bring back to the academy.” He looked up, and for the first time Dean could remember, he saw fear behind those brilliant blue eyes. “I bent to gather some of the polluted water at the last spring, and Void spoke to me.”

Dean’s knees nearly gave out on him. Clutching at the back of a chair for support, he made a strangled noise of surprise. “What did it say?”

Castiel shook his head slowly. “It knew me. It knew my name.” He swallowed heavily, eyes darting to Dean’s before moving away to gaze out the window, the mountains framed within it. “It thanked me for weakening the bars of its cage.”

“We did that together.” Dean took a deep breath, attempting to steady his racing heart. “Rowena and Billie told us, the prophecy, our marriage--”

“Yes.” Castiel met his eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line. “We did.”

As the initial shock began to wear off, Dean’s fear was gradually replaced by something else. He reached out with his hand, safely gloved once more, and squeezed Castiel’s shoulder. “That must have been frightening,” he said softly.

“It was.” Castiel managed a rueful smile. “The guards thought I was going mad. They heard me scream, but could not hear Void’s voice. I have not told anyone else what I saw, for fear they might think me weak.”

“You are not weak,” Dean said quickly. “I would have swooned, had I been in your position. I think you were entitled to a good scream.”

Castiel’s smile widened, some of the lines around his eyes easing. “I would have caught you had you swooned,” he replied. 

“I know.” Dean squeezed his shoulder once more, then reluctantly pulled away. An idea was forming in his mind, but he did not wish to act on impulse, not when there was so much uncertainty in their situation. “Would you be willing to ride back that way with me tomorrow?” he asked.

The smile slipped from Castiel’s face. “What?”

Dean shrugged, attempting a nonchalance he did not truly feel. “I am tired of tiptoeing around these matters. I wish to meet Void head-on, or at least witness its effects here.”

Castiel shook his head slowly. “You are reckless,” he said quietly. “But I admire you for it.” Sighing, he looked out the window once more. “Very well. I will show you where I had the encounter, but under no circumstances are you to touch the water.” There was a note of kingly authority in his voice, and despite the gravity of the situation, Dean smiled.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered. Rising to his feet once more, he tugged Castiel up to join him. “Come. Let’s have a look at your food and water stores, and I will see if I can offer any insight into how best to preserve them.”

The next morning, Dean bade Charlie a brief but emotional farewell as she set out from the castle. Her escorts were unknown to Dean, but they looked both capable and clever, which reassured him. Charlie threw him a crisp salute as she swung onto her horse’s back, and Dean watched with both worry and pride as she led the Hiemerians out the gate and back east towards the pass to Calorna.

Castiel cleared his throat gently, catching Dean’s attention. “She’ll be safe with Dumah and Inias,” he said. With a wry smile, he added, “In fact, she’ll likely be far safer than we are about to be.”

Dean laughed, though there was little humour in him. He and Castiel were dressed for riding, with their own escort waiting patiently to set out. He could no longer see Charlie’s bright red hair in the distance, so he sighed and swung himself into the saddle, Castiel following a beat behind. 

He had only ventured west of the castle once, on his first visit to Hiemere. As they passed the gentle slope where Castiel had taken him sledding, Dean swallowed roughly. How simple things were in those days, though they would not have said so at the time.

Beside him, Castiel was looking in the same direction. Dean suspected his thoughts were following a similar path. He drew his horse abreast and leaned over to say, “When all this is done, I want to go sledding again.”

Castiel smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “Of course,” he said quietly. It was not difficult to guess what he was wondering: whether that hill would still be standing, whether they would even be alive to see it if it were. 

Living through times of wonder, Dean was beginning to realize, was not nearly as glamorous as the old tales would have you believe. 

The path began to climb upwards as they reached the foothills, narrowing as it did. One of the guards went first, followed by Castiel, then Dean, with the other guard bringing up the rear. As they continued to ascend, Dean’s nose crinkled at the rising scent of ashes on the wind. 

“Is that--” he asked, and Castiel nodded grimly. 

“There.” He reached across his saddle to point to a crevice in the rocks, where thick, grey water burbled sluggishly to the surface. It was hardly distinguishable from the rocks around it, and Dean coughed as the wretched smell filled his lungs.

They slowed as they passed, but did not halt. Dean shuddered at the wrongness of the spring, the way the water seemed to contaminate everything around it, turning what should have been a source of pure freshness into the embodiment of bitterness and spoil. As much as the attacks on his own land had shaken him, there was a calculated viciousness here that troubled Dean greatly.

Castiel’s jaw was tight as he stared at the spring, then glanced back to Dean. “Ride on,” he ordered, and sprung forward.

They passed two more water sources in the same state before Castiel spoke again. “The last spring is just ahead,” he said quietly. “The one where--” He trailed off, eyes going distant, and Dean reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I am here with you,” he said. There was no sense making false promises, saying nothing bad would happen, when neither of them could possibly know that. Castiel gave him a grateful look and squared his shoulders as they rounded a bend in the trail, the scent of ashes even stronger than before.

Dean barely had time to pull his horse to an abrupt stop to prevent it crashing into Castiel’s. With a shout, Castiel leapt down from his mount, striding towards the spring. Dean immediately followed suit, panicked thoughts of Castiel falling prey to Void running through his mind. “Cas!’ he called, but his husband did not stop.

Castiel ignored the spring, however, skirting around it before coming to a sudden halt. On the other side of a tumble of rough rock, a narrow path led further west.

“This was not here a few days ago.” Castiel turned to look at Dean, his eyes enormous. “I swear to you, Dean.”

Swallowing the apprehension that rose in his chest, Dean moved closer. He could hear the guards murmuring to each other, but did not spare a glance in their direction. He frowned at the trail, chewing at his bottom lip, then looked up at Castiel. 

“I believe you,” he said. “After all, this is not the first pass to suddenly appear in these mountains, is it?”

Castiel shook his head slowly. “No, it is not.” All traces of surprise and hesitance vanished as he raised his voice. “Kelvin, Benjamin. We are following this trail. Kelvin, you may lead if you desire, or I will.” He looked every inch the king, despite the fact that he wore no crown, and Dean’s heart ached with love for him, for his strength and his curiosity and his fierce protectiveness of his land. 

“I will lead,” Kelvin said, urging his horse forward. “I do not fear what we may find here.”

Dean swept Castiel a low bow. “After you, my lord.”

They mounted their horses once more and began to cautiously pick their way forward. The path was rocky and twisted back on itself many times, but the further inward they travelled, the less Dean could smell the polluted springs. The air also seemed to be growing warmer, with a fresh breeze snapping at their cloaks.

The path began to wind downwards, and Dean caught a flash of red-gold ahead, striking against the endless grey of the rocks. He strained his eyes, wondering where the colour came from, but there were too many bends in the path for a clear line of sight. 

Suddenly, the trail evened out, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat at the sight before them. A forest, trees stretching high into the sky, their canopies formed of brilliant leaves in shades of red, orange, and yellow. A small animal chittered at them from one of the trees, then darted away. The rising breeze caught a leaf as it fell, and it drifted gently towards them. Castiel reached up and caught it gently, running his gloved hands over its edges.

The guards were wide-eyed with wonder, and Dean was sure he wore a similar expression. “It’s beautiful,” he said, not daring to raise his voice and disturb the peace of the forest.

Castiel looked over his shoulder, a soft smile playing about his lips. “It is,” he agreed. He loosened the clasp of his cloak, allowing it to fall from his shoulders. “And warmer than Hiemere, though not as warm as Calorna.”

“Like the meadow.” Dean’s mind raced with the possibilities. Billie and Rowena had spoken of a restoration of balance, of what was once broken being made whole. “Once again, it is quite literally the middle ground.”

He saw Castiel’s understanding in his eyes, in the way he looked at the trees with a combination of wonder and apprehension. “The land continues to change,” he murmured. 

Dean peered ahead, but the path disappeared, and there were no visible ways to wind through the trees, at least not on horseback. “We will return, better prepared,” he declared. “Unlike in the meadow, we might easily lose ourselves among the trees. We can bring cloth to mark a path, and more companions so we can cover more ground.”

Castiel looked longingly at the trees, but nodded. “You’re right. I’m certain Billie would like to be present when we explore further, and I know I would draw comfort from her presence.”

Kelvin cleared his throat, looking bashful. “Might we accompany you on this return mission, Your Majesty?” He flushed as both Dean and Castiel turned to look at him, surprised. “This is the most wondrous thing my eyes have ever seen, and I would like to play whatever role I can in this story.”

“Of course.” Castiel smiled at Benjamin. “We would be honoured by your presence.” He turned back to Dean with a wry smile. “I am happy to be returning with news of a change that does not seem to be an immediate threat, for once.”

Dean shook his head, eyes still fixed on the brilliant leaves, contrasting sharply with the blue of the sky. “Let us enjoy it while we can,” he said, and winced at the way Castiel’s smile faded at his words.


	15. Chapter 15

Three more days passed without incident, though Castiel remained constantly on edge, bracing for another messenger to come bearing ill news. The scholars at the royal academy were working throughout the night to devise a filtration system for the polluted water, and though his eyes were shadowed and weary, Jack’s conviction never wavered. “We will solve this,” he promised Castiel during a brief audience. “We have to.”

Castiel had never been more grateful for Dean’s presence, his one comfort during those days. And at night-- though they were still separated by the layers of thick clothing between them, just having Dean beside him in his wide bed helped chased away the nightmares that had plagued him. Every morning, he woke to see Dean’s head on the pillow beside him, and it gave him the strength he needed to greet the day.

On the fourth night, he and Dean retired early. Castiel led the way back to his chambers-- though in his mind, he had begun to think of them as _theirs_ rather than his alone-- with Dean trailing behind. Castiel threw himself into an armchair in front of the fire, staring into its depths as though it held the answers he sought, as Dean shut the door firmly behind them.

“Cas.” 

Castiel looked up at the sound of Dean’s voice, meeting his steady gaze. The glow of the fire highlighted the sweep of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, and Castiel ached to reach out to him.

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifted in a smile, as if sensing the direction of Castiel’s thoughts. “You’ve been under a great deal of stress,” he said softly.

“So have you,” Castiel replied.

Dean shrugged, letting his cloak fall to the ground as he did. Rather than acknowledging Castiel’s statement, he turned aside to rummage in the wardrobe. Castiel frowned, arching his neck to attempt to see what Dean was doing, but the wooden door of the wardrobe blocked his view.

When Dean swung it shut, he was holding a pair of black silk gloves, a wicked light gleaming in his eyes. “Hold out your hand.”

“Dean--” Castiel protested, but at Dean’s impatient gesture, he did as instructed.

Holding Castiel’s gaze, Dean slid the black gloves over his own hands, then reached out to stroke one gloved fingertip across Castiel’s palm. Castiel shivered at the cool slide of the silk over his sensitive skin, but it seemed the fabric was barrier enough to prevent the caress from causing any pain.

Dean’s grin widened. “Perfect,” he murmured, and then he sank to his knees.

Castiel drew in a sharp breath as Dean’s intentions became clear. “You--”

“Yes.” Dean rested on gloved hand on Castiel’s thigh, the weight and warmth of it steadying. “Let me give you this, Castiel.”

Nodding, Castiel fumbled with the ties of his breeches, knowing Dean would not want to risk his bare forearm brushing against delicate exposed skin. His cock was hardening rapidly, his heart pounding in his chest as Dean waited, infinitely patient, for him to remove his breeches and let them pool at his feet.

Leaning back in the chair, Castiel spread his legs wide. Dean looked up at him briefly, and he nodded. “Please,” he whispered. 

At the first brush of the silk against his erection, Castiel hissed, his entire body tensing at the sensation. Dean smirked at him as he continued to move his hand in torturously slow motions, his fist loose around Castiel’s cock. 

“Why did we never think of this before?” Castiel asked, voice only slightly strained.

Dean tightened his grip, and Castiel moaned. “Stop thinking,” Dean ordered. “Relax, husband.”

Tilting his head to rest against the velvet back of the chair, Castiel obeyed.

Dean’s movements were practiced, the rhythm of them familiar from all the times he had touched himself exactly this way while Castiel watched, wide-eyed and wonderstruck. Dean’s smile never wavered, though it did become smaller, softer, as he continued to torment Castiel in this most delightful way. Though Castiel would have gladly taken Dean’s bare hand against himself if it were possible, he could not deny the heightened eroticism of the whisper of silk against his heated flesh, the striking visual of the black fabric encasing Dean’s hand as it moved over him.

Castiel’s hips bucked involuntarily as Dean twisted his hand around the head of his cock, a familiar warmth spreading through his veins. “Dean,” he warned, eyes slipping closed. 

“Look at me,” Dean urged, voice low. “Let me see you, Castiel.”

Opening his eyes, Castiel looked down at Dean, who took that as his cue to move his hand faster. Castiel bit down on his lower lip, his entire body tensing, as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. Dean smiled crookedly up at him and said, “I wish I could take you in my mouth,” and Castiel was lost.

He groaned as his orgasm washed over him, spurting hot and white over Dean’s gloved hand. At the sight of his own release stark against the black silk, he groaned again, faint tremors of pleasure still coursing through him. Dean’s smirk returned, more pleased than ever, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to kiss it away.

“Let me--” he said instead, gesturing down towards Dean’s hands. Catching his meaning, Dean stripped the gloves from his hands, shifting his weight as he did. Castiel could see the bulge of his erection under his trousers, and Dean lost no time pulling them down over his hips and baring himself to Castiel’s gaze.

Castiel slid off the chair to join Dean on the ground, his hands slightly unsteady as he pulled on the gloves. He paused and wrinkled his nose at the evidence of his climax still covering them, but Dean caught his eyes and said, “Please,” his voice rough with desire. 

The firelight illuminated the faint flush in his cheeks, and Castiel smiled softly at him as he reached out to run one silk-covered finger down Dean’s length. Dean shuddered, mouth falling open, as Castiel closed his whole hand over him, silk and come combining to turn his strokes into smooth, gliding caresses. Dean watched him, eyes wide and breath hitching at every twist of Castiel’s wrist, until he made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan and added his own release to the streaks of white on the black silk.

Castiel waited patiently until Dean caught his breath, then rose to his feet, stripping off the gloves. “I’ll have to ask the tailors to make more of these,” he mused. “Perhaps in other colours.” He glanced down at Dean, who had stretched himself out full-length in front of the fire, his lower body shamelessly naked and a look of supreme satisfaction on his face. “Red, I think. Sapphire blue as well.”

“Yes,” Dean said, rolling onto his side and smiling up at Castiel. “Please do. But for now--” He gestured towards the bed, and Castiel nodded. 

They changed into their fur-trimmed night robes, then slid under the heavy covers. Dean yawned, covering his mouth slightly too late, and Castiel felt such a rush of affection for him that he barely managed to stop himself leaning in for a kiss. “Goodnight, Castiel,” Dean murmured, his eyes already slipping closed. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel replied. He pulled the covers more tightly around himself, and it was only as he was drifting off to sleep that he realized he had not thought about Void, or the prophecy, or the polluted springs, since Dean had shut the chamber door behind them.

The chamber was dark when Castiel woke, the fire burned down nearly to embers. A low whine echoed from the high ceilings, and he sighed in relief as he recognized it. “Here, Bianca,” he called, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Dean.

A moment later, the fox’s wriggling body landed in his arms. Bianca pushed her cold nose against Castiel’s face, still whining, and Castiel frowned as he stroked a hand through her soft fur. “What is it?” he murmured. “Bad dreams again?”

She yipped once, sharp in the silent room, and then a crack like the boom of thunder sounded in the night.

Dean came awake instantly, wild-eyed and reaching for a sword that was not there. Castiel leapt from the bed, scanning for signs of danger, as another horrible noise split the air like a whip.

Bianca jumped down from the bed and ran to the large window. The heavy drapes were drawn against the chill of the night, and Castiel crossed the room slowly, heart heavy with apprehension. 

“Cas, don’t--” he heard Dean say, but Castiel ignored him.

Throwing open the drapes, Castiel gazed out at his worst nightmare made real.

The great waterfall, eternally unchanging for all the recorded history of Hiemere, was cracked right through its middle. In the dim light of the approaching dawn, the tear resembled a jagged wound. Castiel’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at it, so shocking in its violent ugliness.

He felt Dean come to stand beside him, heard the muffled curse he let out. “I’m sorry,” Dean murmured, but Castiel barely heard him.

Through the white-hot rage that filled his mind, only one thought was clear: this had gone on long enough.

Turning sharply on his heel, Castiel marched over to the wardrobe and began pulling out garments without bothering to check how they would look together. Fur-lined leggings, woolen undershirts, a thick cloak, and a heavy hat-- all the necessary layers for an expedition into the mountains.

“Castiel?” Dean asked from behind him. “That’s rather a lot for a court council, is it not?”

“I’m not holding a council,” Castiel replied tersely. “I am riding into the mountains and ending this now. Void found me once, it can do so again. I have words I wish to say to it.”

“Cas.” Dean did not touch him, but he stood close enough to do so. “Wait, please.”

“No, Dean.” Castiel whirled to face him, hands clenched tightly at his side. “I will not stand idly by while my kingdom is quite literally torn apart. I don’t expect you to understand. It is not your land, after all.”

Dean’s face went pale, and he took a step backwards. Castiel winced, immediately regretting his words. “I’m sorry--” he started, but Dean held up a hand to stop him.

“Maybe it isn’t,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But something similar could be happening in Calorna at this very moment. Even if it isn’t, this is a blow to me as well, Castiel.” He shook his head, looking weary despite only having recently woken. “Don’t you understand by now? Our lands, our destinies, they are joined. Just as we are.” He moved closer again, sighing. “And that is the very reason Void strikes at us.”

Castiel exhaled slowly, letting the bundle of clothing in his arms drop to the floor. “Then what would you have me do?” he asked. “Dean, I cannot do nothing. I simply cannot.”

“I would never ask you to.” Stooping, Dean picked up the garments and passed a few of the lighter layers back to Castiel. “I am asking you to let me help you.” 

Nodding reluctantly, Castiel stripped off his nightrobe and began to dress. “How?”

Dean glanced back out the window, the light of the rising sun illuminating the jagged crack in the frozen waterfall. “We send the fastest rider to Calorna,” he said. “Sam and some of the guards join us here, and we ride into the mountains to seek Void.” He crossed the room and began to select his own garments from the wardrobe. “But we do it together.”

Looking into his determined face, Castiel could not find it in himself to argue further. He nodded, and they dressed quickly, knowing the rest of the castle would be in a panic. Just before they left the chambers, Castiel stopped Dean with a hand on his shoulder.

“I am sorry,” he said softly. “I did not mean to suggest that you did not care what happened to Hiemere. I know that you do, but I was--” He shrugged, looking down. “Distraught.”

“You weren’t entirely wrong.”

Glancing up sharply, he met Dean’s rueful gaze. “Had something like this happened in Calorna, I likely would have reacted the same way you did,” Dean admitted. “And I imagine you would have been the one to have to stop me riding out in a desperate attempt to defeat Void single-handedly.”

A wry smile tugged at Castiel’s lips. “That does seem likely.”

“But that is why we have each other,” Dean said softly. “To face our enemies together.”

Castiel shook his head slowly, throwing one last look at the window and the broken waterfall it showed. “How far we have come from being enemies ourselves.”

Dean grimaced, then pulled open the chamber door. “And farther yet to go.”

They rode out the next morning, after an endless series of council meetings and strategy sessions. Many of the courtiers and advisors had been in favour of re-forming the army and riding out in force, but Castiel had refused that suggestion. The castle needed to be protected against other potential threats, and Dean had sent to Calorna asking for a force to meet them at the foot of the mountains. Together, they would be enough.

He did request that Billie, Rufus, and Jack be among those to accompany them, though. Balthazar looked displeased to be left behind once again, but at Castiel’s imploring look, he subsided. He could be trusted to keep the palace running smoothly in Castiel’s absence, particularly with Hannah’s help. “Watch yourself out there,” Balthazar murmured as he pulled Castiel into a farewell embrace in the castle courtyard. “I am content to play regent, but we need you as our king.”

“I have no plans to give up the crown anytime soon,” Castiel assured him. A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed heavily as he looked at the walls around them, the sunlight reflecting off the polished crystal. “I will return.”

Balthazar nodded, then lifted his hand in a salute as the column of the riders began to stream out through the gates, the black and white banners of Hiemere snapping in the wind.

Castiel did not look back. He kept his eyes on the peaks of the mountains, wondering what new surprises would await them there. Dean, riding close at his side, glanced over at him from time to time with a hesitant look on his face, but did not break the silence. They were a grim company, united in their defense of their home, but none of them pleased at riding to war after so recently achieving a previously unknown peace. 

At the foot of the mountains, they met the party from Calorna. Castiel nodded politely at the familiar faces as Dean threw himself into his brother’s embrace. “Thank you for coming,” he said, grasping Sam by the shoulders. “I am sorry you were forced to put this armour on again.”

Sam shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. “I am not,” he said. “I have been and always will be willing to defend Calorna from any threats.” Over Dean’s shoulder, he met Castiel’s eyes and gave him a cordial nod. “And to defend Hiemere as well.”

“We all are,” Benny added. He too gave Castiel a friendly nod before grinning in Dean’s direction. “We would never let you go off on your own, Your Majesty.”

Dean rolled his eyes fondly as he wheeled his horse back into place at the head of the joined column of riders. “Very well, then.” He glanced over at Castiel and said, “At your command.”

Castiel reached down and drew his sword, the morning sunlight turning the blade to liquid fire. He had considered retrieving Icelight from the catacombs for this expedition, but its weight was unfamiliar to him, and he preferred the security of his own much-used blade. “Move out!” he ordered.

“What is it exactly you hope to find here?” Sam asked, guiding his horse into position just behind Dean and Castiel. His hazel eyes were sharp as he scanned the gentle hills around them, the path just beginning to climb upwards into the mountains proper. “Dean mentioned the strange new forest in his last letter. Is that our destination?”

Castiel hesitated, exchanging a look with Dean. “I do not know,” he admitted. “Some sign of Void’s presence, some way to hurt it the way we have been hurt.”

Sam nodded, eyes grim. “The way we have all been hurt.” Turning in his saddle, he made a beckoning gesture, and Rowena rode up to join them. “Perhaps the priestess can be of some aid.”

Castiel gave her an awkward half-bow, his grace hindered by the saddle. Dean threw him an amused glance before inclining his head respectfully at Rowena. “My lady.”

“Your Majesties.” Rowena rode with perfect posture, her fiery hair stark against her white cloak. She drew it tighter around herself as they climbed higher into the mountains and the wind increased. “There is a foulness to the air here.”

“Yes.” Castiel’s hands tightened on the reins. “Just ahead, you will see the first of the polluted springs.”

“A cruel but cunning strike,” Rowena murmured. “We must be cunning ourselves, if we are to win this fight.”

“On the subject of cunning--” Castiel twisted in his saddle to examine the faces of the riders behind them. “The Chief Strategist did not accompany you?”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “Despite his protests, I ordered Kevin to remain behind to oversee matters at the castle, along with some of our best guards.” He glanced at Dean with an apologetic shrug. “You’ll notice Victor is not among us, for one.”

“Good.” Dean nodded firmly. “We took a similar approach.”

Despite the cold air, Castiel was warmed by Dean’s statement, by his ease in including himself in the collective unit of the Hiemerians. He snuck a small smile in his husband’s direction and was rewarded with a wink in return. 

At the first polluted spring, he called a halt while Billie and Rowena held a whispered conference, their faces tight with concern. Castiel strained to hear what they were saying, but caught only the intensity of tone and not the words themselves. After a few minutes, they urged their horses onwards, still conversing in low voices. 

“I trust them both with my life and the safety of our kingdoms,” Dean confided in a whisper, “but I do wish they could be more forthcoming.”

Castiel snorted his agreement. “I believe one must be enigmatic to begin with to become a priest or priestess, and I imagine it only increases with time.”

“Indeed.” Dean looked over at Sam and raised one eyebrow. “Will you be cool and mysterious just as they are if you continue your studies at the temple, Sam?”

Sam shrugged, tucking a stray strand of hair into the knot at the back of his head. “Who can say what the future will hold?” he replied.

Dean groaned, and Castiel bit back a smile. Sam winked in his direction, then pulled his horse over to engage Rufus in conversation.

Soon, they reached the path that led towards the newly-discovered forest. Castiel lifted his hand to signal a halt and pointed in that direction. “This trail was only discovered a few days ago,” he said, pitching his voice to carry to all the riders. “But I do not believe it is a threat.”

He could hear speculative murmurs rising from the ranks, and he waited patiently while they peered down the path, though they could see nothing around the rocky outcrops that lined the narrow trail. 

“And what lies beyond?” Sam asked eventually, pointing ahead of them, away from the forest.

“Very little,” Rufus answered before Castiel could do so. “The path ends at the base of the highest mountain, there.” He pointed to the snow-capped peak that rose above all the others. “This trail is only for access to the springs, and does not cross the entire range.”

“We should continue forward.” There was no expression on Billie’s face, but neither was there any hesitation in her voice. “If we are to find any answers, it will be in the shadow of that mountain.”

Castiel looked over at Dean, who shrugged and spread his hands wide. Rowena was nodding from her place beside Billie, and that was motivation enough for Castiel. 

“Dismount here,” he instructed. “The path is narrow, and our horses will only hinder us.” He motioned to two of his own guards as Dean did the same. “You four, stay with the horses. The rest of you, follow me.” He looked at Dean, who was already off his horse, and corrected himself. “Follow us.”

He and Dean fell into step at the lead, with Rufus and Sam following, Billie and Rowena behind them. They walked in silence, picking their way around patches of ice and sharp rocks that jutted up from the ground. Dean stumbled once, not as sure-footed on this terrain, but Castiel caught him by the arm and steadied him. “Careful,” he warned.

Dean gave him a sheepish grin, but squeezed his shoulder gratefully. “I am glad I have you to look out for me.” His cheeks were pink from the cold wind, his lips dry, but against the dramatic backdrop of the mountain, Castiel thought he had never looked more beautiful. 

“Always,” he said softly.

A few minutes later, the trail came to an abrupt end. Castiel clambered up over the rocks at the base of the mountain with ease, pulling Dean up beside him as the rest of the party spread out as best they could. 

“Well?” Castiel said to Billie and Rowena, who had kept themselves slightly apart from the others.

They shook their heads in unison, faces grave. “This mountain is old,” Billie said, laying a gloved hand on a stone outcrop beside her. “Very old.”

Rowena closed her eyes, tilting her face upwards. “There is great power here,” she said. “And great anger.” She looked up at Dean and Castiel, shaking her head. “Can you feel it?”

Closing his eyes, Castiel took a deep breath. The stink of ashes did not carry this far into the mountains, but there was something else on the wind, something sharp and metallic, like silver threaded into the rock around them. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I can.”

Opening his eyes, he climbed further up the slope of the mountain, careful to test each step before allowing his full weight to settle on it. Dean muttered something highly uncomplimentary under his breath but followed after him, even more slowly and cautiously. Risking a backwards glance, he saw Sam and Rufus organizing the others into small groups, spreading across the base of the mountain but remaining within sight.

A few feet ahead, there was a small ledge. Castiel swung himself onto it, then reached down to pull Dean up beside him. Planting his hands on his hips, he looked down at the tumble of rocks that led into Hiemere, his heart clenching painfully in his chest as he wondered what next attack Void had in store for them.

Dean, meanwhile, was gazing off into the distance, though he could not see Calorna from their current position. Castiel took a step towards him, the scent of metal rising as the wind whipped around his face. 

The snow crunched beneath his booted heel, and Dean turned at the sound. His pensive expression sharpened as Castiel took another step, his mouth opening, but it was too late.

The ground gave away beneath them, and they were swallowed by the darkness in the shadow of the mountain.


	16. Chapter 16

Dull pain radiated from the centre of Dean’s body, spreading outwards through his limbs. He winced as he attempted to pull himself upright, hands scrabbling on the hard ground. A jagged piece of rock sliced into his palm and he hissed, drawing back in on himself. Inhaling slowly, he rose to his feet, peering into the darkness that enveloped him.

“Castiel?” he called, realizing too late that it might not be wise to announce his presence so boldly.

There was no response.

Dean remembered the look of shock on Castiel’s face, the way his eyes had widened as the ledge crumbled beneath them. The sound of Castiel shouting his name as they fell, and the sudden stop to their descent, the landing knocking the breath from his body. Castiel had been right beside him, but now--

As his eyes gradually adjusted to the dimness, Dean took a step forward, then hesitated. He had no way of knowing what danger might lie ahead in the gloom of this cavern. The ground was rough and uneven, and when he tilted his head upwards, he could see no sign of the world above. 

“Castiel?” he called again, lower this time. “Cas?”

Still no response. Dean chewed on his lower lip as he looked around, searching for any sign of Castiel’s presence. If he had been injured in the fall, if he could not respond to Dean--

Cursing to himself, Dean shrugged out of his cloak and left it draped on the ground where he had fallen, so that Castiel could find it if he came this way. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear water dripping, the steady _plink_ amplified by the towering walls of stone. With nothing else to guide him, Dean moved towards the noise, keeping his footsteps as light as he could, his right hand resting on his belt. Fortunately, he had not lost any of his weapons in the fall.

He carefully picked his way around protruding ridges of rock, the sound of falling water growing louder as he approached. Every few feet, Dean stopped to scan his surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of Castiel or any indication that he was here, somewhere in this vast darkness. The further he moved from where he had awoken, the more unsettled Dean became, a scent of ashes and anger rising in the stale air.

After what seemed an eternity, Dean found the source of the dripping sound. A twisted column of rock descended from the air, its base too far away to be visible, and water ran down its length in a thin but continuous trickle, falling steadily onto the ground below. Cautiously, Dean reached out, letting a drop land on his outstretched palm. It was cold, so cold that it ought to have been frozen, but otherwise perfectly ordinary.

“Well,” Dean muttered to himself, “if I am trapped down here, at least I will have something to drink.”

If he were in a proper state to form a logical plan, staying here would be his best option. He had no idea where he might find a water source again, and the caves could stretch on for miles. But the thought of Castiel lying battered and bruised somewhere in this awful place kept Dean moving, shaking his head at his own folly as he did. He could only hope he would be able to follow the sound of the falling water if he needed to return this way.

There was a slow but steady downwards slope to the ground in this direction. Dean shuddered as he imagined just how much deeper he could journey into the earth, the thought of so much rock and ashy air between himself and the surface not a comforting one. Even if he did find Castiel, how would they even begin to formulate a plan to leave this place? 

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for several seconds before releasing it slowly. It helped to alleviate some of his looming panic, but not all. When he opened his eyes again, he frowned, certain they were playing some trick on him. But no-- there was indeed a glimmer of light in the distance, the tiniest pinprick of hope. 

He forced himself to continue his careful pace as he approached it. If, as he suspected, the fall had not been an accident, there might be more trickery awaiting him. The glow grew gradually brighter as he climbed down towards it, a flickering white beacon to guide his way.

The ground was rougher here, small stones and chunks of rock scattered beneath his feet. Any attempt at quiet was ruined by the way they crunched under his boots, and Dean winced as he skidded slightly, showers of pebbles scattering in all directions. He paused, heart thumping wildly in his chest as he crouched into a defensive position, but no attack came, no sign that anyone-- or anything-- was tracking his progress through the dark.

Minutes later, he found the source of the light. A smaller cavern opened to his left, an arching spire of rock forming an oddly regular doorway to pass through. Within it, a shaft of light descended from above, spilling through the archway into the main section of the cave. Dean hesitantly placed one foot over the threshold, then the other.

A high, metallic shriek immediately rose around him, and Dean clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block it out. It only grew louder, discordant notes echoing from the stone walls. Dean could not think, could not breathe, could only act on pure instinct. He fled from the noise, moving deeper into the cave, and just as abruptly as it had started, it cut off, leaving nothing but eerie silence.

Trembling, Dean wiped the cold sweat from his brow, slumping against the rock wall beside him. If he had any doubts before, they were now erased. This place was steeped in Void’s presence, and it had brought Dean and Castiel here for its own purposes.

Though his ears were still ringing, they soon caught a new sound: the crunch of stone beneath feet. Dean tensed, hand drifting to the hilt of his sword, and turned back to face the archway. The footsteps drew nearer, then paused before resuming again.

Dean drew his sword as quietly as he could, sparing one last thought for his brother, his friends, and for Castiel, hoping they might survive this even if he did not, and stepped out of the shadows to face the approaching enemy.

He drew up short, his sword slipping from suddenly nervous fingers. “Cas?” he whispered, not sure he could trust his own eyes.

In the spill of light from above, Castiel stood, his hair a rumpled mess and a thin cut high on one cheekbone. Otherwise, he seemed perfectly unharmed. He gazed steadily at Dean, but did not greet him. Perhaps he too was gauging the potential for a trap.

Dean moved forward instinctively, arms outstretched. “Castiel?” he asked again. “Are you hurt? I’ve been looking for you.”

At that, a smile broke across Castiel’s face. Something cold settled in Dean’s stomach at the sight of it, for it was not a smile he knew. It was sharp, ancient, and full of barely-contained malice.

“How fitting,” Castiel said. “I’ve been looking for you too.”

Dean stopped abruptly. That was not Castiel’s voice. Or rather, it was, but twisted, tainted. Its usual roughness was multiplied tenfold, and there was an edge to it that Dean had never heard. He swallowed heavily and said a third time, “Castiel?”

Slowly, Castiel shook his head. “No,” he said. “Only the semblance of him. It is an honour to meet you, King Dean. My name is Void.”

“What have you done to him?” Dean demanded. He ought to have been frightened, ought to have been fleeing in terror. But his concern for Castiel eclipsed any instinct he had for self-preservation, and though his hands shook, he held his ground.

“He is alive,” Void said with a nonchalant shrug, as though such things hardly mattered to it. “I am, by my very nature, formless. But in the world above, there is much more that can be accomplished with a body.” It held out a hand-- Castiel’s hand, that large, capable palm turned up for its inspection-- and shrugged again. “He felt no pain when I took possession of him, if that is your concern.”

“My concern,” Dean said tightly, “is far greater than that.”

Void tilted its head to the side in a gesture so like Castiel’s that Dean flinched. “You humans think you are so bold. What else is your concern, little king? Your crown?” It laughed. “Your land only exists because of me. Me, and Plenty.”

Dean drew in a deep breath and raised a challenging eyebrow. “Perhaps. But as you may be aware, new lands now exist. Because of Castiel and I.”

Void snarled, and the faint scent of ashes on the air intensified. “Yes,” it said. “I am aware. You have woken me with your union, and from deep in my prison I have observed you, biding my time. Waiting for an opportunity like this.” With a sick smile, it stroked a hand down Castiel’s side. “I could only reach you in whispers, in acts I could control through the earth. I knew it would not be long before you came to seek me yourself, foolish as you mortals are.”

Void certainly seemed to love the sound of its own voice-- or Castiel’s, Dean supposed. If he could keep it talking, he could buy himself more time to think of a plan, some way to defeat it or even escape it without causing Castiel further harm. 

“And then what?” he asked. “You have the body you wanted. But you are still trapped here.”

It smiled again, but with genuine amusement. Somehow, it was even worse to see Castiel’s face twisted that way, so close to his own expression but warped just slightly. “You think you can trick me into telling you that, oh, perhaps there is a tunnel that will lead you back to the surface?” It waved one finger in the air as though scolding a small child. “Not so fast, little king. First, I must deal with you.”

A chill ran down Dean’s spine. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Void stepped closer, folding its hands behind its back as it prowled in a circle around Dean, inspecting him closely. Dean’s heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to remain still, not to show any of the fear that was coursing through his veins. “I have three enemies in this world, King Dean. One, I am currently in control of.” It gestured loosely to Castiel’s body. “One, my greatest enemy, I must still locate.” It stopped, spreading its hands wide. “And then you.”

“Why didn’t you simply kill me?” Dean demanded. He desperately hoped the questions would keep Void talking and not provoke it into sudden violence, but he had to take the risk. He still had no idea how to separate it from Castiel. “Why torment me this way?”

“Is it a torment?” Void cocked its head to the side, frowning. “How interesting. Yes, I suppose it would be difficult, seeing your lover’s face but hearing my words emerge from these lips.” It paused for a moment, thoughtful. “If you would prefer, I could take possession of you, and kill him instead?”

“No!” Dean exclaimed, moving without thinking, hands wide in supplication. “Don’t. Please.”

Void shrugged again. “It truly does not matter to me. It was easier for me to locate Castiel once I had you both down here, as I had already spoken to him before. But even that was a matter of convenience more than anything else.” It pointed upwards, winking at Dean. “Your people were wise enough to never make a path that led to my mountain. It kept you safe from me, for a time.”

“Until our marriage threatened to unite our lands again,” Dean said softly. He had absorbed Rowena and Billie’s explanations of the prophecy, of the importance of joining what had been broken, but he had not truly understood them, not until now. The war between Calorna and Hiemere was what kept the peace between Plenty and Void, and when it ended, so too did their uneasy entente.

“But you cannot defeat Plenty,” Dean said, frowning. It was the very reason Void had been imprisoned rather than destroyed after the first great battle between them. “One without the other cannot exist. The world, all of being, would be ended with your demise.”

“And so?” Void lifted one dark eyebrow, supremely unaffected. “I will gladly go to my end if it means I will take Plenty with me.” It laughed, bitter and low. “It is possible. But Plenty would not do so, for it loves itself too much. Ending is against its very nature. So it imprisoned me, thereby keeping itself alive, if that is the correct word for what we are.” 

Dean swallowed roughly, jumbled thoughts running frantically through his mind. If Plenty and Void could be killed, but not without taking all existence with them, he would have to find some other way to resolve this. 

Unfortunately, it seemed Void had grown tired of his presence. It took a step towards him, hands closing into fists at its sides. “You begin to bore me, little king. I believe it is time I removed you from the field.”

Dean’s hand flew to the dagger at his waist, but he hesitated. Any injury he inflicted would be on Castiel, not on Void. It smiled knowingly at him as it came closer, forcing Dean to take a step back until he was pressed against the hard stone wall of the cave.

“Cas.” It emerged as barely a whisper, and Dean inhaled sharply before trying again. “Castiel. Can you hear me?”

Void shook its head slowly. “A valiant effort, but in vain. He can hear you, yes. He can see you, and he will see the light dim from your eyes. But there is nothing he can do to stop it.”

Dean ignored it. “Castiel. I know you can hear me. Please, love, you can fight this.”

Void snarled again, a vicious animal sound. “Stop this.” As quick as a striking snake, it wrapped its hands around Dean’s throat, cutting off his words. “You will be lost to the darkness, King Dean, and your glorious destiny will die with you.”

Gasping for breath, Dean scrabbled uselessly against the hands at his neck, but Void was too strong. “Castiel,” he grunted. “Stop.”

For a brief moment, he thought he saw something change in those blue eyes, so close to his own. It was as if a curtain had been drawn back, and the spark of intelligence and warmth had returned to them before vanishing again. But it was enough, enough to give Dean the strength to make one last attempt as he struggled in Void’s hold.

“You are a warrior as much as a king,” he gasped. “Fight this!”

The hands at his throat relaxed, enough for Dean to draw in a shuddering breath.

“Dean?” It was Castiel’s voice, not Void’s. At the sound of it, a wave of relief crashed over Dean, his knees going weak with it. “I cannot-- it is so strong.”

“You can,” Dean said fiercely. “You already are.”

Castiel shook his head, eyes drawn tightly shut. His face was set in harsh lines, and Dean winced at the thought of what pain Void could be inflicting on him as they wrestled for control. “I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered, and his eyes went dark and shuttered once more.

“No--” Dean’s protest died on his lips as the hands around his throat tightened again. 

He could feel himself growing weak from lack of air. The cold shadow over Castiel’s features had returned, evidence that Void had regained the upper hand, and the sight of it only added to Dean’s pain. Closing his eyes, an idea born of desperation and lack of oxygen flashed through his mind. 

Letting himself fall back against the rough wall behind him, Dean wrapped his hands around Void’s wrists, feeling the fragility of the bones beneath skin and tendon. Strangely, it did not hurt-- but then, it was Void he was grappling with, not Castiel, and perhaps that was enough. He poured all his remaining energy into that grip, and as he did, he opened his eyes and stared directly into Void’s. 

He and Castiel had created new lands where once there had been nothing but mountains. Though it frightened him to admit it, there was power in Dean, and if he could use it now, could harness it to his will--

He imagined himself drawing Void out of Castiel’s body as poison is drawn from a wound. Void hissed, and the faint scent of ashes in the air grew stronger. Glancing down, Dean could see black tendrils running from Void’s wrists into his own, tracing their way through his veins and up through his arms. He shivered as they moved through his body, but he did not let go.

The inky substance grew thicker, darkening the backs of Dean’s hands. Risking a glance into Void’s face, he saw rage there, but also a trace of fear. Smiling grimly to himself, Dean gathered all his energy, all his adrenaline, and wrenched Void’s hands from his throat.

He did not, however, loosen his own grip. Void thrashed against his hold, but it was weakening. “Are you with me, Castiel?” Dean asked, his voice raw.

A shudder, and then-- “I am with you.”

The light returned to Castiel’s eyes, and he turned his hands over in Dean’s grip. The black tendrils continued to spread between them, racking Dean’s body with shudders, but he held firm, encouraged by Castiel’s return to himself.

“Do not take too much of it,” Castiel said urgently. “We must strike the correct balance, so we can both share its presence equally.”

Dean nodded. “Tell me when to let go.”

Castiel closed his eyes, grimacing. “Soon. I can feel it, coiled in my mind, its claws dug deep. But it is losing ground.” He opened his eyes again, shining with the fierce light of determination. “Now, Dean!”

Bracing himself, Dean let go of Castiel’s wrists. The last few lines of black in his veins travelled upwards, disappearing under his sleeves. He and Castiel stared at one another, chests heaving, until Castiel finally said, “Is it done?”

Dean passed a shaking hand over his brow. “I can hear it inside me,” he said softly. The distant sound of screams and gnashing teeth, wordless babbling filled with thwarted rage. “Can you?”

Castiel nodded, eyes distant. “Yes. But not so loud as before.” He exhaled slowly, and took a step towards Dean. “I believe I can keep it caged, for now.”

His unsteady legs finally gave away beneath him. Dean slumped to the floor, exhausted, and tilted his head back to rest on the cool rock. He felt Castiel settle beside him, close but not touching, and then the faintest pressure on the back of his hand.

It hurt, but not as much as he might have expected. 

“How did you know?” Castiel asked quietly.

Dean rolled his head to the side and smiled ruefully at him. In retrospect, it was a terrible, reckless thing he had done. But it had worked. “I didn’t. I only knew I could not let you go without a fight.”

Castiel let out a shaky laugh. “Thank you.” Even in the gloom, he looked beautiful, and Dean drank in the sight of him, the shadow over his features now gone. “As much as I hate to ask-- now what?”

Sighing, Dean tilted his head to the side and let it rest on Castiel’s shoulder. A moment later, he felt a careful hand run through his hair, touching only the tips of his sweat-dampened strands. “Give me a moment,” he murmured. “And then we can see about finding a way out of here.”

“Ah.” Castiel’s hand stilled, and he nudged Dean lightly with his shoulder. “As a matter of fact, I do have the solution to that most immediate of our problems.”

Dean raised his head and frowned at him. “You do?”

“Yes.” Castiel smiled, a small but triumphant thing. “Void was not simply boasting about the tunnel out of here. I saw it in my mind as it spoke of it.” He gestured back through the archway, out into the main section of the cavern. “The way out is further down, not up. We journey under the mountains and emerge at the base of the waterfall.” His face tightened for a moment, and Dean leaned against him, offering what comfort he could. “Likely, that is how it was able to damage it.”

Dean grimaced. “If it could do all that just from here--” He trailed off, meeting Castiel’s understanding gaze. “Do we dare bring it out into the world, even contained within us?”

“We must,” Castiel replied. “We must find Plenty. That is the only thing Void wants, the constant pattern of its thoughts. Whether they defeat one another, or one is imprisoned again, we have to bring those circumstances about. That is our role in all of this.”

A shiver ran through Dean at the mention of Plenty, and he could feel Void moving restlessly in his mind. He did not much like the thought of standing between two such immensely powerful entities, but he knew, with bone-deep certainty, that Castiel was correct.

It was their destiny to unite what once was sundered. And try as he might, Dean could not run from it.

Climbing wearily to his feet, he reached down to pull Castiel up. A flash of pain ran through him, but somehow, Void’s presence within them tempered it, making it bearable. “Come on, then,” he said. “We have a prophecy to fulfill.”


	17. Chapter 17

Void’s presence was a constant, discordant hum in the back of Castiel’s mind. From the tight set of Dean’s jaw, visible even in the darkness, he knew he was experiencing the same feeling of ill ease. They had contained it, for now, but they were only human, and Void was so much more. Despite their weariness, they moved rapidly through the caves, following the downward slope of the ground, driven by the urgency of their mission.

“Do you feel that?” Dean asked, coming to a sudden halt. 

Castiel nearly bumped into him, stopping just in time. “What--” he started to ask, but then frowned. Holding out one hand, he felt the brush of a cool current of air, fresh and clean.

Dean sighed in relief. “We’re going the right way.”

“Good.” Castiel nodded, then began moving again. Struck by a sudden thought, he glanced back over his shoulder at Dean. “How long have we been down here?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Dean replied. He quickened his pace, catching up to Castiel. “I only hope our friends have been searching for us, and have not yet given us up as lost.”

His hand brushed against Castiel’s, the slight flare of pain worth the comfort the gesture brought. As the path led steadily onwards, the air grew colder, a sure sign they were approaching Hiemere. Dean shivered, his teeth chattering, and Castiel quickly settled his own cloak over Dean’s shoulders despite his protests. He was far more accustomed to the temperature and could bear the cold for longer than Dean. 

The path took a sharp turn to the right, and Castiel squinted ahead, where a glimmer of light glowed in the distance. The smell of ashes that had lingered in the cave was fading, disrupted by the wind that sighed through the long tunnel. 

A few minutes later, the source of the light was revealed: a narrow opening in the wall of the cave through which sunlight spilled. Castiel looked at it dubiously, then at himself and Dean. It barely looked wide enough for them to pass through, but Void had been confident it could use his body to escape this way, which gave him some hope.

It was indeed a tight squeeze, but one after the other, they made it through, emerging onto the banks of the frozen river, the waterfall looming above them. It was disquieting, realizing this path had existed for years without Castiel’s knowledge. He shivered as the cold hit him, but the discomfort paled in comparison with his relief at being free of the caves. Inside his mind, Void roiled, shrieking with rage, but Castiel ignored it. 

In the light of day, the red marks around Dean’s throat were stark. Castiel winced as he looked at them, the memory of that fragile skin under his hands still fresh. 

Catching the direction of his gaze, Dean offered him a lopsided smile. “It was not your fault,” he said softly. 

“I know.” Castiel shrugged, still unsettled. “But I am sorry for it regardless.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but broke off, his eyes widening. Turning, Castiel caught a flash of movement, the clear ring of trumpets suddenly echoing across the fields.

“Oh, good,” Dean said, his voice thin. “They’ve found us.” He raised one eyebrow at Castiel. “I believe it would be beneath our kingly dignity to stand here and wait to be rescued, would it not?”

Castiel shook his head, marvelling at how he managed to find some humour in this situation after everything they had experienced. “Quite,” he agreed. 

So, with their heads held high, they strode out to meet the approaching riders.

From the colours of their banners, it was a mixed party of Calornans and Hiemerians. Drawing closer, Castiel recognized Sam and Rufus in the lead, their faces showing clear relief. Sam’s horse pulled ahead, charging towards them, and he barely slowed before leaping down from the saddle to pull Dean into an embrace.

“Thank the fates,” he said shakily. “We thought--” He broke off, swallowing visibly, and shook his head. “We feared the worst.” He peered at the marks on Dean’s neck, casting a sidelong look at Castiel, whose own lack of bruises must have looked rather suspicious. “What--”

“We’ll explain on the way,” Dean said firmly. “Do you have horses for us?”

“Yes, of course.” Sam pushed his hair away from his face as the rest of the party reached them, two guards immediately leading a pair of horses forward. 

Rufus leaned forward in his saddle, scoffed, and gave Castiel a rough pat on the back. “Good to see you, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Turner.” From someone as taciturn as Rufus, that was quite the declaration of feeling. “Thank you for finding us so quickly.”

“Quickly?” Rufus let out a low whistle. “It has been three days since you disappeared. We were beginning to lose hope.”

“Three days,” Castiel repeated, stunned. Beside him, Dean exhaled slowly, mouth tightening. “And in that time--”

“Nothing,” Sam replied. “No disturbances, either here or in Calorna. We’ve had riders crossing the mountains constantly along with the groups searching for you. Other than your absence, it has been quiet.”

“Well, we know why,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Void was rather occupied, as I remember it.” He looked at Castiel with a wry smile. “I hope you have a plan.”

“Not really.” Castiel swung himself up into the saddle, Dean following a second behind. “But I know who will.”

“And so,” Castiel concluded some time later, “Void is within us.” He looked at Dean, remembering the way the black substance had travelled through his veins, the steadiness with which he had maintained his grip on Castiel’s wrists. “Within both of us.”

There was a moment of stunned silence from the assembled audience. Seated on a bench in the temple, he and Dean had told their tale to their allies, from Sam and Charlie to Billie and Rowena. It was those last two Castiel truly hoped would be able to offer some solution. They held their own whispered conference now, heads bent closely together as the others began throwing rapid questions at Dean and Castiel.

“Please.” Castiel held up his hands to stop them. His left temple throbbed, whether from exhaustion or stress or Void’s presence within him, he could not say. Most likely, it was a combination of the three. “I do not believe it is currently a threat. But we cannot hold it forever.”

“What if you can?” Jack asked, eyes wide with trepidation. “What if you must? If Void could take possession of you so easily, what if it decides to remain?”

Castiel felt Dean go suddenly tense beside him. In truth, they had not considered that possibility. Void had maneuvred them into seeking it out, into bringing Castiel close enough to possess. If this was its intent all along--

“No,” Rowena said, looking up from her discussion with Billie. She gazed at Dean and Castiel, frowning. “I can see it within you, like a fracture in your souls. It is dark and full of despair, but not triumphant.”

Dean nodded, absently running one hand over his forehead. “It screams constantly in my mind.”

“Mine as well,” Castiel added. “This is a good thing?”

“Yes.” Billie nodded gravely. “It seems we were wrong about the true meaning of the prophecy. There is a battle yet to come, but not of the sort we expected.” She looked at them both, compassion and pity in her eyes. “You, my kings, are the battleground.”

“What?” Dean’s voice was laced with unease, his postured radiating apprehension. “What does that mean?”

“You took Void into yourself through the force of your own will,” Rowena explained. “Just as you expelled it, King Castiel. We are people of the lands created by Plenty, and as its kings, that power is strongest with you. It was enough to wrestle Void into submission, but will not be enough to hold it. For that, we need Plenty.”

“And how do you propose we find it?” Sam asked, disbelief warring with respect in his tone. “Wander through the desert as we did in the mountains, and hope we are fortunate enough to encounter it?”

Rowena raised one sharp eyebrow at him, and he subsided, a flush appearing high on his cheeks. “Your skepticism does not become you,” she said archly. “No, Samuel, what we need is a way of attracting Plenty’s attention.”

Castiel frowned, eyes wandering to the ice sculptures lining the sides of the room. Plenty, for all they knew, was everywhere and nowhere at once. How could they summon it to them now?

“A sacrifice,” Jack said quietly. His face was pale, but his voice steady. “In the old stories, if you wish to make yourself known to the powers of the world, you must make a sacrifice.”

“No,” Dean said immediately. “No, we will do nothing of the sort.”

“Easy, my king.” Rowena laid a calming hand on Dean’s shoulder, tilting her head to the side as she looked at Jack. “It may not require the kind of sacrifice you are imagining.” She looked at Billie, who wore a pensive expression, brow furrowed. “The true meaning of sacrifice is to relinquish what matters most to you.”

Castiel shook his head, some instinct telling him this was not the way forward. “Dean,” he said slowly. “Do you remember what I-- what Void-- said? About Plenty being selfish?”

Dean frowned. “Yes, but--” His eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Not what matters most to us, but to it?”

Billie looked up sharply. “Plenty loves itself more than anything else,” she said. “Creation, abundance, it is self-serving and self-replicating. If we wish to provoke it--”

“We threaten it,” Castiel concluded. He was still staring at the sculptures, remembering the tales his father had told him long ago, standing in this very room. 

Abruptly, he got to his feet and crossed the room, coming to a stop in front of the last in the line of sculptures. In it, a crowned figure knelt, a towering pillar of ice standing over it, a blade in its hand. _And we were given the sword Icelight, a symbol of our duty to fight for our land,_ he could hear his father say, pride ringing from every word. _Made by Plenty itself and entrusted to our line, which remains unbroken to this day._

The very sword that lay entombed with his brother’s body, just below them. Castiel had not moved it from its resting place, knowing that with Michael’s death, it no longer served its intended purpose. The war with Calorna was over.

But now it could help them win this even greater war.

“One moment, please.” Castiel turned sharply on his heels, making for the staircase in the opposite corner. Dean called after him, but Castiel did not stop. Down the stairs he went, no longer fearing the crack that ran through the floor of the catacombs. He and Dean had faced Void, and they had conquered it, at least for the time being. 

The sword was exactly where Castiel had last seen it, lovingly polished by the temple attendants every morning. He stared at it, remembering the way it had glittered first in his father’s hand, and then in Michael’s. What would they think of him using it in this way, rather than on the field against the Calornans?

Castiel shook his head and picked up the sword, careful to touch only the scabbard, which was made only by human hands, not those of Plenty. With one last respectful incline of his head towards Michael’s body, he left the catacombs, bearing the sword proudly before him.

Dean was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, his eyes flying wide at the sight of the sword. Castiel winced, remembering too late that it was the weapon that had killed Dean’s father.

“Will this serve?” Castiel asked Billie as he approached.

She reached out and traced a hand over the scabbard. “Yes and no.”

Dean made an impatient noise beside him. “My lady, I have the greatest respect for you. But we are short on time, and if you could”-- he waved his hand in the air-- “answer directly, it would be appreciated.”

Castiel snorted in amusement as Billie raised one eyebrow and Dean quite visibly quailed at her expression. “Very well,” she said coolly. “It is a step in the right direction, but it is not enough.” She looked at Rowena, who nodded in agreement. “We are seeking to restore balance. An artifact of Hiemere alone--”

“Does not represent the goal of unity we are striving for,” Rowena concluded. “We require something of Calorna as well.”

Dean’s face went pale. “The dagger,” he murmured. “But it is locked away in the royal treasury at home. By the time we ride back to fetch it--”

“Your mother’s dagger?” Castiel asked. He remembered it well, the elegant craftsmanship, the jewels in its hilt. The way King John had raised it to Michael’s throat with such satisfaction on his face.

“Yes,” Dean replied. “The royal line is through her family, not my father’s.” He sighed heavily, pushing his hand through his hair. “If I ride out now--”

“There is no need.” Sam rose to his feet, reaching down to the belt at his waist. He shrugged as he tugged a small sheathed knife from its holder and held it out to Rowena. “I brought it with me.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and Castiel inhaled sharply. “How did you know?”

Sam shook his head, eyes filled with wonder and perhaps a hint of fear. “I had a dream, weeks ago. My mother’s voice, telling me to take up her dagger. I took it from the treasury the next morning, and have carried it with me since.”

Dean laughed, mingled joy and relief in the sound, and crossed the room to pull Sam into an embrace. “Well done, Sam.”

Smiling ruefully, Sam offered the sheathed blade to Dean. “I have only brought you the instrument. The rest is up to you.” He met Castiel’s eyes and inclined his head. “And King Castiel.”

“Clear a space,” Billie ordered, no room for disobedience in her tone. “Your Majesties, before the altar, if you please.”

Dean and Castiel stepped forward as the others moved back, offering well-wishes in low tones. In the back of Castiel’s mind, Void was screaming once more, but he ignored it as best he could. Judging by the tight set of Dean’s jaw, he was hearing the same shrieks and wails. Squaring his shoulders, Castiel looked at Billie and Rowena, who had joined hands, matching expressions of determination on their faces.

“You carry all our fates with you,” Billie said, nodding gravely at them. “May you find the strength and wisdom to see us to safety and unity.”

“Remember,” Rowena added, smiling gently, “you have power of your own.”

Castiel turned to Dean and took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I will ever be,” Dean muttered. He raised his chin and met Castiel’s eyes, a spark of steely defiance in his gaze. “Let us show them how powerful Calorna and Hiemere united can be, my lord.”

Holding each other’s gaze, they drew their weapons.

The instant Castiel’s hand touched the bare blade of the sword, Void let loose a terrible sound in his mind. Castiel’s knees buckled, but he did not loosen his grip. Tendrils of black coursed through the veins on the backs of his hands as though fleeing from the shining surface of the blade, and looking over, he saw the same patterns on Dean’s hands. 

Sweat poured down Castiel’s temples, but he gritted his teeth and held fast to the sword. Through the whine of Void’s protests, he heard a new sound, something like the notes of an expertly-plucked harp. Castiel leaned towards it, letting his eyes fall shut as the sound grew louder.

There was a burst of white light, and the temple disappeared from around them.

When Castiel opened his eyes, he and Dean were standing in the centre of a grassy field under a bright sun, still clutching their blades. Dean’s chest heaved with exertion, but he stood tall and proud. It was eerily quiet, even Void no longer protesting in Castiel’s mind.

And then came the voice. Rich, low, filled with promises of all the finest and most luxurious things, but threaded with rage. “What have you done?” Plenty asked. “Corrupting my gifts to you with the touch of”-- a hissing noise-- “the abomination?”

“It worked,” Dean replied, shrugging. Castiel could curse him for his cavalier attitude if he did not admire him so greatly for it. “We wished to speak with you.”

“Fascinating,” Plenty replied. The voice seemed to come from all around them, from every blade of grass and from every beam of sunlight. “To say what, precisely?”

Castiel stepped forward. “To tell you this has gone on long enough. If Calorna and Hiemere can put aside centuries of enmity and learn to exist in harmony, then so can you and Void.”

Laughter, as rich and bitter as the finest cocoa. “Oh, foolish child. No, we cannot. For we are defined by our opposition to one another.”

“As were our kingdoms,” Dean pointed out. “Just because something has always been one way does not mean it must remain so.”

“And besides,” Castiel added, “you and Void were one once.”

At that, Void stirred inside him. A faint movement, like one whose name has been called from a distance, straining towards the sound. 

“You can be one once again,” Castiel continued, heart racing with nervous energy. “If you both wish it.”

“And why would I wish that?” Plenty asked. “I cast my shadow self down and imprisoned it deep below the earth. It remained there, defeated, until you impetuous humans decided to upset the balance.”

_It was not balance,_ Void suddenly exclaimed from within Castiel’s head. Judging by the way Dean flinched, he heard it as well. _Let me speak, mortal. Let me face my reflection for the first time in a thousand years._

Castiel glanced at Dean, hesitant. He was loath to give Void any control, but if they had any hope of accomplishing their goal--

Dean gave a small shrug. Castiel blew out a noisy breath and slowly lowered his sword to the ground, Dean following a beat behind. “How do we--” Dean asked, shaking his head.

In truth, Castiel did not know. But he reached out and took Dean’s hand in his own, feeling only a slight sting, and watched as the ink-like substance pooled in their joined hands. “Speak,” he said, and Void did.

It used both their bodies, both their voices. “Hello, Plenty,” it said.

“You.” Plenty’s voice went cold, cold as the Hiemerian wind. “I ought to raise another mountain and bury you here again.”

“Ah, but you cannot.” There was an undeniable note of satisfaction in Void’s voice. “Not without harming the humans who currently house me. And you are fond of them, are you not?”

“There are others.” Castiel could practically hear the dismissive shrug, though Plenty had no body to perform the movement. “They matter little. And once they are gone, their kingdoms will return to war with one another, this notion of peace a forgotten dream.”

Abruptly, Dean dropped Castiel’s hand. In his own voice, he said, “No. They will not.”

Castiel shook his head. “You cannot undo what has begun. The world itself has been shaped by our union. Our people have seen what is possible, and they will continue to fight for a world united.” He glanced at Dean, who gave him an encouraging nod. “Already, the lines between our lands have blurred. New lands have risen to connect us, where your presence has been tempered.”

“And they are still good.” There was a note of pleading in Dean’s voice now. “I love the heat of Calorna, the fierce sun and the wild rains, and I have even come to love the cold of Hiemere. But the calmness of that meadow, the beauty of that forest, they cannot be denied. Please, you must see that.”

“I cannot.” Frustration dripped from Plenty’s voice. “I am made to love myself, to want more and more and more. Always more.”

Reaching out, Castiel took Dean’s hand and let Void speak once more. “And that is why you need me,” it said. “To temper your desires. To curb your appetite. Let me take you. Do you not grow tired of your hunger? I can bring you rest.”

There was a long pause, and then-- “I do,” Plenty admitted. “But my need to survive is stronger still. I cannot accept defeat. It is not in my nature.”

Castiel swallowed heavily, pushing his own consciousness forward. Void, surprisingly, allowed it. “Then do not think of it as defeat,” he suggested. He gave Dean a wry smile. “When I was captured by the Calornans, they offered me the peace treaty at the price of marrying Dean and remaining in his kingdom for a time. It felt like a surrender, so I resisted at first.”

He shook his head, remembering. “But it was what was best for me, and for my people. It was not defeat, only a new way forward.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Not at all battles are fought with armies and weapons,” he said, glancing down at the blades lying in the grass. “And they are not all won with bloodshed. We thought we were preparing to fight, and we are.” He tightened his grip on Castiel’s hand. “A battle of wills, against ourselves and against each other. Can you find it in yourselves to rise above the opposition, to find common ground?” He looked down at the blades again, shaking his head. “To set aside the past and look to the future?”

“I can,” Void said.

Castiel blinked in surprise. He had not expected so decisive an answer, and from Void--

“If it means I can escape my prison, I can accept almost anything,” it continued. “To feel power again, but without causing unnecessary harm. Only to act as a natural check, as intended.”

“As you once did?” Plenty said, sounding almost wistful. “Long, long ago?”

“Yes,” Void said softly. “When the world was whole, and we were as one.”

A warm wind passed across Castiel’s face, ruffling his hair. Within him, Void sighed. “Let me go,” it said. “Release me, and let me meet my counterpart.”

Glancing over at Dean, Castiel thought he saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. “Yes,” he said. 

They raised their joined hands towards the sky, and Castiel opened his mind, relaxing the mental wall he had erected to keep Void contained. In a rush, the black lines travelled up his arms, bursting forth from both his fingertips and Dean’s, soaring up into the blue sky.

Clouds began to form, white at first but gradually darkening to grey. Castiel watched, awed, as patches of grass around them began to wilt, but not wither completely. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and the first drop of rain fell onto his upturned face.

It was only then that he realized he was still holding Dean’s hand, but he felt no pain. His breath catching in his throat, he slid his hand downward along Dean’s forearm, feeling the flex of muscle under soft skin. “Dean,” he said, wonderstruck, “is this--”

Dean turned to him, eyes wide. “If we did what we set out to do,” he said, tripping over his own words in his excitement, “if we brought together what was broken--”

“Then there is nothing left to divide us,” Castiel whispered. Reaching out, he cupped Dean’s face in his palm as the rain continued to fall, dripping from his eyelashes onto his freckled cheeks.

Dean leaned forward, and soft as a whisper, brushed his lips across Castiel’s.

Nothing in his life had ever felt so right. Castiel poured himself into the kiss, ignoring the way his clothes were rapidly growing soaked from the rain. All that mattered was the relief of knowing they had won, and that this was their reward. Only by working together had this been accomplished, and now, they could join fully and with joy.

A crack of thunder split the sky, and Castiel jumped back. Dean smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he pressed a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “Frightened?” he asked.

Castiel pushed impatiently at his chest. “No. Look.”

The clouds were gathering directly above them. From there, a voice descended. It was neither low nor high, neither sweet nor sour, the most perfectly melodious voice Castiel had ever heard. The harmony of balance between Plenty and Void. “Look upon what you have made possible,” Being said. 

The field around them vanished, and they found themselves high in the mountains once more. To the west, Castiel could see the peak beneath which Void had been imprisoned, meaning they were somewhere roughly in the middle of the range. 

“Careful now,” Being cautioned, and a jagged crack of lightning split the sky, striking the ground not far from where they stood.

An enormous crater appeared where it made contact, rock groaning as it split. The rain grew harder, torrents of water falling from the sky. Castiel clutched Dean’s hand tightly as the crater began to fill, and within minutes, a perfect jewel of a lake sat where once there was nothing but stone.

The wind ruffled Castiel’s hair, and the clouds began to dissipate, leaving only a few scattered streaks of white in the sky. “There,” Being said, sounding rather satisfied with itself. “What is empty and yet also filled. It is a fitting place for us.”

“It is.” Castiel nodded, marvelling at the beauty of it, the still water reflecting the blue sky above. “I wish you joy in it.”

“But not too much joy,” Dean added. “Or we will have to start this entire process all over again, and frankly, I am exhausted.”

“Go.” There was a definite note of fond amusement in Being’s voice now. “You have completed your task, and admirably so. Now you may rest, secure in the world you have made for us all.”

There was a rush of wind, and then silence.

Dean exhaled slowly, staring into the calm surface of the lake. “Well,” he said. 

“Well,” Castiel echoed. His lips twitched, so much pride and wonder and pure love bubbling up in his chest he could barely contain it. “Would it be beneath our kingly dignity to wait to be rescued this time? I, for one, would like to stay right here, basking in our success, and let the others come to us.”

“You are as brilliant as you are handsome,” Dean said, tugging Castiel closer by the loops of his belt. Then he paused, frowning, as his fingers drifted across the empty place where Castiel’s sword would hang. “Our blades--”

The last Castiel had seen them, they had been lying in the grass in a field that may not even have existed in the strictest sense of the word. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. 

“I suppose we no longer need them,” Dean said thoughtfully. 

As if on cue, a low laugh sounded from the water of the lake. Turning sharply, Castiel saw a hand rise from the surface, bearing aloft a glimmering sword. He tugged Dean forward, stepping into the shallows without hesitation, and together they accepted the offering. 

It was not as long or broad as Icelight, and the gleaming blade was steel rather than crystal. But it had many of the same scrolling designs etched into its surface, and set in the pommel were several familiar-looking jewels.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean woke to a light breeze blowing across his naked back, carrying with it the scent of sun-ripened peaches from the fields outside the palace. He shifted slightly, not yet willing to rise, but then laughed as the tickling sensation along his spine grew more intense.

“It’s too early,” he said, words muffled by the way his face was pressed into the mound of pillows.

“Nonsense.” Castiel dragged his fingertips along the curve of Dean’s back, just above his buttocks, and Dean inhaled shakily, arching into the caress. “We have duties to attend to this morning, my love, and if we wish to perform them in a timely manner--”

“We must make an early start of it.” Rolling onto his side, Dean met Castiel’s smug look with a grin of his own. “Oh, very well.”

He leaned in and closed the distance between them, sighing into his husband’s mouth. In the three months since they had reshaped the world, they had learned each other’s bodies in the most intimate and creative ways, but Dean would never tire of this, of the ease with which he could touch Castiel now. Every morning they woke, pressed together with no barriers of fabric between them, and Dean marvelled at the path that had led them here, to a world made anew by their bond. 

Castiel slid across the sheets towards him, the long lines of his naked body pressing against Dean’s with a flattering urgency. Dean drew back to press kisses along the curve of his jaw, the place under his ear where his dark hair curled in the warm Calornan air, his bare, sunkissed shoulder. Though they still travelled back and forth between their lands, they did not have to part in order to do so. They could both maintain their health no matter the length of their stay, further proof that something broken in the world had been mended. In the past three months, they had not spent one night apart, nor had they failed to make the most of that time.

With a soft sound of pleasure, Castiel tilted his head to the side, inviting. Dean laughed but indulged him, continuing to press kisses along the exposed skin, experimenting with the pressure of his lips and cataloguing every noise Castiel made in response. He could feel Castiel’s cock hardening against him, his own stirring in response, and without breaking the kiss, Dean reached into the table by the bed for the jar of oil they kept there. 

But when he moved to slick his fingers, to reach between Castiel’s legs, Castiel stopped him with a hand on his wrist. “I believe it is your turn,” he said, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure and anticipation. 

In this, as in most things, they were well-matched, both taking great pleasure in any and all types of lovemaking. Dean shrugged, less interested in the fairness of it than in the sheer enjoyment, and passed the jar to Castiel. 

With a firm kiss, Castiel rolled him onto his back, gazing down at him with so much appreciation and affection in his eyes that Dean felt himself flush. Smiling, Castiel placed a kiss to the centre of his chest as he coated his fingers in the oil and ever-so-gently pressed one against Dean’s opening.

Dean’s body welcomed him easily, his legs spreading further to allow better access. He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the sensation of Castiel’s long, clever fingers inside him, the peach-scented breeze adding to the heat building in his body. Castiel worked him open with infinite patience, alternating between sweet kisses and sweeter words murmured into Dean’s ear as he did. 

The low simmer of arousal began to climb higher, small sounds of need falling from Dean’s lips. He arched into Castiel’s hand, three fingers inside him now, and opened his eyes. 

Castiel raised one eyebrow at him. “Yes, Dean?”

Scowling, Dean shifted his hips. “You know what.”

“No, I don’t believe I do.” Castiel crooked his fingers in a way that made Dean gasp with pleasure. “Is there something you wish of me?”

Dean laughed and leaned up for a kiss. As he did, he tugged at Castiel’s shoulders, rolling him over onto his back, hand sliding free of Dean’s body. Grinning down at him in triumph, Dean settled himself over his hips, Castiel’s hands instinctively closing at his waist as Dean slowly sank onto his cock.

“Yes,” Dean said, once he had caught his breath. “That is what I wanted.”

“How convenient.” Castiel smiled up at him, looking all too pleased with himself. “It is what I wanted as well.”

Dean kissed him again, briefly but deeply, and then began to move. He loved the way Castiel felt inside him, the way he allowed Dean to set the pace while still moving with him in perfect rhythm. He was slow today, indulgent, taking Castiel as deep inside as he could before raising himself up again, helped by Castiel’s strong hands at his sides. A rivulet of sweat wound its way down Castiel’s chest, highlighting the sharp cut of his muscles, and Dean reached down to follow its path, leaving Castiel shivering under his touch. 

Shifting his hips slightly, Dean clenched his muscles, making Castiel curse under his breath. His hands tightened on Dean’s hips, pulling him down fiercely, his own hips rising off the bed to meet him. Dean increased the speed of his movements, rising and falling more rapidly now, eyes locked onto Castiel’s as they climbed higher towards the peak of their pleasure.

He knew the signs of Castiel’s impending climax well: the shallowness of his breath, the way his eyes would flutter closed despite his intentions, the way he would gasp Dean’s name over and over in broken whispers. Wrapping his own hand around his erection, Dean stroked himself, leaning back slightly to put himself on blatant display, knowing it drove Castiel wild, a reminder of the times when this was all they could have of one another. 

As expected, Castiel’s eyes flared wide, and he batted Dean’s hand away to replace it with his own. He was thrusting up into Dean now, no finesse or control, and Dean tipped his head back, shuddering, as his orgasm hit him with sudden intensity and he spilled over Castiel’s hand. 

“And now it is your turn,” he murmured, still moving over Castiel’s body. “Let go for me, Castiel.”

With one last impossibly deep thrust, Castiel did. Dean hummed in satisfaction as he felt the warmth of his release inside him, moving his hips in shallow thrusts to coax the last tremors of pleasure from Castiel’s body.

Slumping forward onto Castiel’s chest, Dean kissed him, slow and deep. “A bath, and then breakfast?”

He closed his eyes in contentment as he felt Castiel’s hand settle in his hair, smoothing it away from his forehead. “Yes, I think so.”

“Or we could simply remain here,” Dean suggested. “Surely they can manage without us.”

“A tempting idea.” He could hear the amusement in Castiel’s voice. “But I believe we would come to regret it.”

Sighing, Dean rolled off him, rising from the bed and stretching his arms over his head in a shameless display. Equally shameless, Castiel watched him with clear appreciation, eyes tracking a slow path from the top of Dean’s head down the naked length of his body. 

Jutting out one hip, Dean winked at him. “Come along. If we’re quick, we may have time for more play before the attendants come in search of us.”

He had never seen Castiel scramble out of bed with more speed. Laughing, Dean caught him around the waist and dragged him towards the bathing chamber, stopping every few feet to exchange teasing kisses. It would be a marvel if they ever managed to make themselves presentable, but then, they had accomplished far more marvelous deeds together.

Two hours later, dressed in formal but comfortable clothes and with a trail of courtiers and ordinary citizens in their wake, they rode out along the new road that stretched from the palace northwest towards the mountains.

The past three months had not only passed in a haze of sexual discovery for Dean and Castiel. Crews from both kingdoms, comprised mostly of former soldiers, had been hard at work building new routes for travel across the mountains. The original path, east of the palace, had been widened to allow easier access for wagons and carts, while this brand new road had been developed to offer an alternate route into Hiemere. It climbed up into the mountains, past the peak under which Void had been buried, and met the path used by the Hiemerians on the other side, passing by the newly-named forest Auradia along the way.

Dean and Castiel had travelled this road many times over the past months, even stopping to help with its construction at times. But today, they were not crossing the mountains completely. Today, their destination lay at the very heart of them, on the shore of a perfect blue lake. 

As they rounded the bend and the lake became visible, Dean’s breath caught in his throat. No matter how many times he saw it, it never failed to fill him with awe. Beside him, Castiel sighed, his eyes reflecting the same awe. 

It looked exactly the same as it had the day they helped bring it into existence, except for one small detail: the gleaming marble temple that now sat on its shore, pillars rising up to meet the cloudless sky. 

Dean reined his horse to a halt on the smooth stones in front of the building, beaming from ear to ear as Sam came striding out to meet them. “Well?” Sam asked, planting his hands on his hips. “What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” Dean said, utterly sincere. The temple was simple in design, but clearly built with love and dedication by the group Sam and Rowena had assembled to assist in its construction. Sam had been the first one to suggest building the new centre of worship and learning here, at the heart of their united kingdom, and both Billie and Rowena had immediately approved the idea.

It gladdened Dean’s heart to see the pride and joy in Sam’s face as he looked at what he had built. He had commanded his builders with the same natural authority that had once made him the most feared general in the Calornan army, but with a far different goal in mind. He was a born leader, and Dean privately thought he had finally found his place here, where people from all lands could come together to learn and to celebrate and to seek advice from the wisest among them. 

“Come,” Sam said, ushering them forward. “Let me show you the sanctuary.”

It had not yet been completed the last time Dean and Castiel visited. Swinging down from his horse, Dean reached out for Castiel’s hand, and together they followed Sam into the cool air of the temple.

Tapestries from Calorna lined the walls, with sculptures from Hiemere in front of them. The altar, an enormous block of dark marble, sat proudly at the far end of the sanctuary, two familiar figures standing before it. Dean smiled at the sight of them, making a low bow as he approached. 

“My ladies,” he greeted them. “You have my sincere congratulations on your achievement.”

Rowena smiled at him, her eyes flicking over to Sam. “In truth, we did very little,” she said. “Your brother was the driving force behind almost all the design and construction.”

Sam flushed, though he looked quite pleased at the praise. “I had a great deal of assistance from Hiemere as well,” he countered. He smiled at Castiel, any tension that once existed between them long vanished. “Your cousin Jack, in particular, was an invaluable resource. I hope to pay him a visit at the academy soon and see many of the texts he referenced for myself.”

Castiel smiled. “I believe he would like that very much.”

“You may escort me back, if you wish,” Billie offered, gentler than Dean was accustomed to hearing her sound. Something in her seemed to have relaxed, these past months, though she could still be quite intimidating if she chose. “Once we have concluded today’s ceremony.”

At that, Dean exchanged a glance with Castiel. “And what precisely does this ceremony involve?” Castiel asked.

Rowena laughed, shaking her head. “Nothing to be afraid of, my king. We simply wish to dedicate the new temple, to open it to the world and to let them see its wonders. Here.” Stepping down from the raised platform on which the altar stood, she beckoned them towards the corner of the sanctuary, where a velvet cloth hung over an alcove in the wall.

Dean raised a hand, then stopped, glancing at Sam for permission. He nodded eagerly, so Dean tugged at the cloth, inhaling sharply at what it revealed as it fell away. 

The sword given to them by Being was encased in sheets of thin glass, polished to a high sheen. It rested on a marble pedestal, and a silver plaque below it bore the name _Harmony_.

Castiel pressed his hand against the glass, reverent, then snatched it away with a guilty expression. Dean bit back a laugh as two matching glares were turned in his direction, and Castiel hastily scrubbed the surface of the glass clean again with the edge of his sleeve. 

Sam laughed as well, clapping a friendly hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I have done exactly the same thing,” he admitted. “It is difficult to resist doing otherwise.”

“It’s wonderful,” Castiel murmured. “This is a fitting home for it.”

They had discussed it, that first day. Whether one of them ought to carry the blade, or pass it between them. But with the world united once more, there seemed little need of a sword, other than as a token, a call to remember what had occurred in order to bring them to this place of peace and security. Sam had promised to find a home for it, and so he had.

“There’s more,” he said, nodding towards the arched passage opposite them. “I think you’ll like this as well.”

Dutifully, Dean and Castiel followed. The passage led out into a courtyard, where a fountain splashed merrily in its centre. But it was what surrounded the fountain that nearly caused Dean to stumble, his heart soaring in his chest.

Laid out on the ground was an intricate mosaic in the shape of a map. The fountain formed the centre, an obvious analogue to the lake just beyond these walls. Dean walked a slow circle around it, starting at the top: the glittering castle of Hiemere, the frozen waterfall, the path through the mountains, all represented in painstaking detail. Then the meadow, which they had named Olver, with its stream and its blossoms, back through the mountains and into Calorna. Dean paused there, stooping to trace his hand over the tiny orchards, smiling foolishly before continuing around to Auradia with its red and gold trees and back into Hiemere. 

Castiel had walked the same path, and when he finished, he came straight into Dean’s arms, holding him tightly. Dean rested his chin on Castiel’s dark head and inhaled the scent of pine from the soap Castiel preferred to use. 

“We made this,” Castiel said, a note of pure wonder in his voice. “I can barely believe it. By marrying, we brought this into existence.”

“Not just by marrying,” Dean pointed out. “It took many more choices to bring us to this place. The choice to give our alliance a chance, to turn it from a marriage in name only to something true. The choice to truly know one another, and to encourage our people to do the same.”

Castiel tipped his head back and met Dean’s eyes, a smile playing around his lips. “Choice,” he echoed. “Not just an ancient prophecy?”

Dean shook his head without even needing to consider it. “No,” he said. “The marriage was only the beginning. It was not what made us whole. We could have allowed war to break out once more when your people first arrived and thought we were mistreating you.” He winced, remembering how ill Castiel had been in those days, how close Dean had been to losing him. “But we did not. We had no knowledge of the prophecy then, only a dream of a better world.”

“So we put in the work to bring it into existence.” Castiel leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. “Not that it took much work for me to fall in love with you.”

Even after the recent months of wedded bliss, Castiel could bring a flush to Dean’s cheeks. Dean laughed softly and murmured his own words of love into Castiel’s ear as they stood entwined, gazing down at the mosaic spread before them. 

“It’s so beautiful I can barely stand it,” Castiel whispered after a long moment. “Dean, it’s overwhelming.”

“I know.” Smiling softly, Dean tipped Castiel’s chin up and kissed him. “And that’s why we share it with each other.”

Castiel laughed and pressed a fond kiss to his cheek before turning to look at Sam, who was watching them with an indulgent smile. “You have made something truly special here,” Castiel said warmly. “Congratulations, Sam.”

Sam ducked his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Technically, you made something truly special first.”

Laughing, Dean disentangled himself from Castiel’s embrace and crossed the courtyard to pull Sam into a hug. “Accept the compliment,” he said. “Or Castiel will continue to shower you with praise at every opportunity, and you will never hear the end of it.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he winked at Castiel. “Trust me. I have experience in this matter.”

“Very well.” Sam reached up and adjusted the knot of his hair, glancing at the position of the sun in the sky as he did. “Besides, it’s nearly time to begin. We can argue over who merits the most compliments afterwards.”

Reluctantly, Dean allowed himself to be led back inside the sanctuary proper. He could have happily spent the rest of the day in the courtyard, but this day was not only about them. 

A large crowd had gathered inside the sanctuary, filling the room to its limits. Billie and Rowena waited at the altar, and as Sam slipped away to join the ranks of watchers, he squeezed Dean’s shoulder in encouragement. With a deep breath, Dean held out his hand to Castiel, and together they stepped up to the altar and looked out at their people. 

“Greetings, my friends.” Castiel’s voice was warm with pride. “Thank you all for joining us today as we open this new house of learning and wisdom, in which we can all find refuge when needed.”

“It stands at the centre of the mountains that once divided us,” Dean continued. “But now, thanks to your efforts on the new roads, it can truly belong to us all.”

“For though we will keep the names of Calorna and Hiemere, bearing them with honour and with joy,” Castiel said, “they do not stand opposed to one another any longer.”

“Indeed.” Dean smiled, winking out at the crowd. “If my suspicions are correct, in a few months’ time there will be a new generation born, one that belongs to both kingdoms equally.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, and Dean caught more than one fond glance exchanged between couples. He turned to Castiel and noted the amusement in his own eyes as he stepped back.

Billie and Rowena came to flank them, each bearing a circlet of flowers, the colours of Calorna and Hiemere combined in them. “Today, King Castiel and King Dean join themselves together not only in marriage but in true partnership,” Billie said, her deep voice resonating in the lofty room. “Ruling together, over a land united in love.”

At her nod, Dean and Castiel bent their heads. Billie and Rowena placed the circlets lightly over their brows, the heady scent of the flowers filling the air. Straightening up, Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes and smiled helplessly at him, bursting with love and satisfaction.

“Your burdens are not your own, but each other’s,” Rowena said. “Your triumphs are not your own, but each other’s.” She paused, glancing out into the crowd, and smiled. “Your kingdoms are not your own, but each other’s. You are yourselves, distinct persons, but forever bonded by love and duty alike. Together, you have ushered us into a new age, one of peace and prosperity and healing.” She stepped back, clasping her hands at her waist. “May we all find joy in it.”

As the crowd erupted into cheers and applause, Dean pulled Castiel forward into a kiss. When they broke apart a moment later, his eyes were wide, his circlet crooked on his dark head, but his smile brighter than Dean had ever seen it. “I believe we may consider the prophecy fulfilled,” he murmured, for Dean’s ears only. “And so the question remains--”

“Now what?” Dean finished. He shrugged, reaching up to adjust the crown of flowers on Castiel’s head. “In truth, I have no idea.”

He turned slightly, waving to the crowd, smiling as they roared their approval. “But I believe our future will be a good one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this adventure. Please remember to leave some love and adoration for Aceriee's artwork [on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105488) or [on tumblr](https://missaceriee.tumblr.com/tagged/dcbb19superhoney).
> 
> You can also reblog the tumblr masterpost here!


End file.
